


The Bodyguards

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, Bodyguard, M/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco are brought together for a seemingly dull security mission. Things however, are not as they seem.</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: Bodyguard; Draco: Bodyguard</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bodyguards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 122](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NnIZtnyWEqbQHgi3U6N1CwbznCTkDeZGWJqgEw6KRrQ/).
> 
> Words cannot express how thankful I am to eidheann_writes for all her kind words and support during the course of this fic. She is without a doubt, the only reason it's out here. Thank you **so much** , darling. You're a gem. Lovely mods, thank you for your never-ending patience and for the gracious extension. And the one after that. And the one after that and so on. You guys are brilliant. Digthewriter, it was a great prompt to work with. I hope you have fun with this!

Eddie knew it was going to be one of those days the moment he entered his client’s office. His first clue was the shattered window at the far end of the lobby. His second was the faint sounds of screaming from the conference room, despite the soundproofing spells he knew they had put up there. As he walked down the opulent hallway and past a mousy receptionist who absolutely refused to meet his eye, he noticed the wary, discomfited expressions of the rest of the staff, trying their level best to appear unconcerned as they went about their work day.

Anyone else would assume they had walked on to a crime scene.

Eddie West however, was a lawyer; a legal advisor to the rich and famous. And we’re not talking ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’ famous. Oh no. Eddie got the _real_ deal. He handled bands, singers, artists and Quidditch players. His clients weren’t just celebrities in the magical world, they were stars. And Eddie worked his arse off to make sure they remained stars. Hell, if Gilderoy Lockhart had had the good sense to hire him, he’d probably still be selling his tripe instead of doodling on napkins in the Janus Thickey Ward. In Eddie’s line of work, a screaming, rage-crazed client on the verge of a panic-attack-slash-murder-spree was not a ‘crisis’. It was Thursday. So he didn’t bat an eyelash as he approached the Conference Room of Pain and Misery. He just hoisted up his briefcase up and strode on like a soldier.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving away the timid assistant who approached to usher him in. The poor kid had probably drawn the short straw; she looked fit to bolt. “I know how the door works.” She retreated with a grateful nod. Eddie rapped once to announce his presence and entered.

Fat lot of good it did him. Nobody even noticed there was one more person in their midst. No, every eye in the spacious room was fixed on the furious, vengeful beauty currently screaming the place down.

“I want answers, damn it!” Vivian Warbeck screeched, tossing the newspaper on the desk. Eddie would bet his soul it was _The Daily Prophet_. Her eyes were dark and they shone with pure rage as she rounded on the remaining occupants. “How the hell did this story make it to the papers? You call yourself a PR team? What the bleeding hell am I **paying you for?!** ”

“Mrs Warbeck, please. You need to calm down."

That extremely inadvisable placation came from Lisa Turpin — the cute, curly haired brunette. Eddie winced in sympathy as Vivian’s eyes slitted dangerously.

“Miss,” she hissed dangerously. “It’s _Miss_ Warbeck and don’t you ever forget it.”

Lisa swallowed and took a prudent step back. “Y-yes, Ma’am.”

Her colleague— the blond kid Eddie vaguely recalled as ‘Zacharias Smith’— cleared his throat and reluctantly took the field. “We understand how upset you must be, Miss Warbeck. Believe me, if there was any way we could have prevented this, we would have. Unfortunately, the paparazzi got there before we could get Paris out and…”

“And now my daughter is on the front page of the bleeding _Daily Prophet!_ ” Vivian raged. “Do you realise how incredibly bad this is for her career? Do you realise how bad it is for _mine?_ Give me one good reason not to sack you right this very second!”

Right then. Clearly, this called for some good old fashioned damage control.

“Well, for one thing it’s going to be murder replacing them in this economy,” Eddie put in.

Vivian whirled around to face him. Not for the first time, she practically took his breath away. Vivian Warbeck was every bit the looker her mother Celestina had been back in the day. With dark eyes and sweeping lashes, a graceful, curvy figure and long curly locks tumbling over her slim shoulders — Merlin, the woman could stop traffic with one smile. It was too bad she was a few Gobstones short of a set. Oh well, at least he had her attention for the moment.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Vivian remarked with a delicate sneer.

That being said, she made no protests when Eddie approached and greeted her with a polite peck on the cheek. “I got here as fast as I could. You look beautiful, by the way.”

“I look like shite,” Vivian groused. She favoured her PR team with a scathing look. “No thanks to this lot.”

Lisa looked about one step from bursting into tears by now. Eddie took the reins. He absolutely refused to deal with more than one hysterical woman at a time. There weren’t enough Galleons in the world.

“Why don’t you two give us a minute?” he suggested kindly.

The two nodded gratefully and left as quickly as they could without outright running for safety. The door shut with a quiet click. Vivian sagged into a chair, practically deflating as her ire died down. After all that screeching, the silence rang in Eddie’s ears.

“Did you read the papers?” she asked heavily.

He snatched up the Prophet, taking a seat across from her and preparing for the worst. He was not disappointed. The headlines practically blazed at him from the front page.

 

_WAYWARD WARBECK CAUGHT IN YET ANOTHER SCANDAL_

_—Exclusive Coverage by Rita Skeeter_

 

 _Paris Warbeck is at it again. A weekend celebration at the Vivacious Veela in Diagon Alley took an unexpected turn when the sixteen year old and three of her friends were forcibly removed from club premises by the DMLE. Sources on the spot report that the party was getting ‘out of hand’ and ‘pretty wild’._  

 _The Aurors were called in after one of Warbeck’s guests_ — _allegedly_ , _‘close friend’ and aspiring musician Lawrence March_ — _caused a scene after the club staff refused to serve him alcohol. On being informed of magical statutes concerning underage drinking, Miss Warbeck cited her ‘right to party’ and threatened to call her lawyer. The party was dispersed without major incident, although Warbeck kicked a bouncer in the shins as she was carried out._

_Our regular readers may recall that this is not the first time the teen scene queen has made it to the papers. Two weeks ago, Warbeck found herself in hot water for an impromptu visit to a shopping centre in Muggle London where she used the Confundus Charm on an ‘uppity salesgirl’. The incident resulted in a month long suspension from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic (Warbeck is currently in her Sixth Year) but the saga continues with no end in sight. The public has expressed their irritation with the wayward teen, and no small amount of concern._

_Warbeck’s father, Mr Leonard Skiver had this to say in the wake of this latest incident: “Paris is out of control. I’m scared for her, I really am. A father worries, you know? I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again, Vivian is not a good parent. She’s a bad influence on that sweet little girl and this is solid proof of that. If I was in the picture, the poor kid wouldn’t act out like this. It’s a cry for help.”_

_Leonard Skiver and Vivian Warbeck separated ten years ago after a short, tumultuous marriage. Warbeck retained full custody of their daughter, Paris. Mr Skiver was denied visitation rights when the Wizengamot deemed him unfit owing to a ‘track record of irresponsibility and negligence’_ — _a rather harsh verdict_ _for a few youthful indiscretions, sources report._

_The Warbeck estate has declined to comment on the incident. Vivian Warbeck stressed on Paris’s commitment to her singing career and insists that she will do the family legacy proud. “Paris is really serious about her music,” she stated in a previous interview. “She’s got what it takes. Her grandmother Celestina would be proud.”_

_Famous last words, says this reporter. The question remains: does Celestina Warbeck’s granddaughter really have what it takes to be a star? Or is this just another spoilt heir riding on the coattails of their family name? Has the Warbeck legacy finally reached its inevitable crash and burn with the wayward Warbeck? Is Vivian Warbeck an unfit parent? You tell us. Write in to the Prophet at…_

 

Eddie sighed wearily. It was definitely one of those days.

He put the paper back on the desk, fighting to keep his expression neutral. It wasn’t easy. “Well, it’s not the worst tripe that Skeeter’s ever printed,” he commented finally. It came close, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. No, that honour went to the six page story on Paris’s ill advised dragon tattoo last year, better known as ‘The Tramp Stamp Chronicles’. Now _that_ had been a tough one to beat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vivian bit out. Her delicate features twisted in a moue of distaste. “Every scrap that Skeeter woman prints makes Paris’s chance of being taken seriously in this thrice damned business just that little bit harder.”

Personally, Eddie was more concerned about what a sixteen year old girl was doing unsupervised at a club in Diagon Alley in the first place, but he knew better than to say that out loud. Vivian was a tad ‘sensitive’ on the issue of her child rearing skills and she hardly needed more incentive to throw things around.

“This kind of news gets old really fast,” he placated instead. “Trust me, Viv. By this time next week, no one is even going to remember this. It’s going to be fine.”

“Until the next time Paris acts out,” Vivian replied quietly. She looked up at him, and he couldn’t help but notice the fine strain lines under her eyes, how rigid her posture was. She really was worried. Eddie felt a twinge of sympathy for her despite his reservations. She’d been so young when she had Paris. No one knew how to be a parent at eighteen. She was thirty five now and she was still feeling her way around it. And Paris sure as hell didn’t make it easy. Teenagers rarely did, in his experience.

“Maybe you just need to spend more time with her,” he suggested carefully.

Vivian's eyes slitted at the unintended insinuation. “I’m not a bad mother,” she bit out. “Believe it or not, Eddie, but I’m doing my best with that little brat. She’s just making it harder every day.”

“That’s what teenagers do,” he argued back. “This is not your fault. But it’s tough being a mother when you’re in a new country every three weeks. When was the last time you spent any real time with the girl?”

If he was being honest, he was feeling bitter about it on Paris’s behalf. And yes, he supposed he was a bit biased, but he had practically raised her. After all, Eddiehad been right there in the maternity ward at St Mungo’s when Paris had first come into the world. Her no-good father hadn’t even bothered to show up. Eddie had bought her first toy broomstick— which Vivian had taken away on account of it being ‘too dangerous’ a week later. Hewas the one who had painstakingly selected three separate nannies for the six year old who just didn’t understand where Daddy was and why Mommy was so busy. And he was the one who sent her birthday cards and asked her how she was doing at Beauxbatons when Vivian was too busy being on tour and being famous to bother with that sort of thing.

Perhaps more to the point, _he_ was the one who had seen the sweet, innocent little girl he had become so fond of grow up into an angry, rebellious teenager who acted out on every occasion because she didn’t _know_ how else to get her mother to pay attention to her.

Eddie had filled in for both her parents more times than he could count, and while Leonard Skiver was a worthless prick who hadn’t been in the picture since Paris turned five, the fact was that Vivian could probably take a leaf from his book too.

She didn’t. And he knew she wouldn’t, damn the woman.

“I’m not discussing this with you,” she informed him sourly. “I called you down here for your legal advice, Eddie. So I suggest you shut it and do your damn job like…”

“Like you’re paying me to,” Eddie finished dryly. He’d heard that song far too many times to be offended. “Fine, let’s get to work then. I can’t ask the _Prophet_ for a retraction. They have photographs of Paris at the club. I can’t claim the story was fabricated. They have witnesses who saw Paris there. And before you ask again, I can’t sue Rita Skeeter for writing whatever the hell she likes. If it worked that way, believe me, there would be a line from here to Hogsmeade.”

“Well, what _can_ you do?” she snapped. She snatched up the paper again and tossed it at him. “ _This_ is not okay, Eddie! And mark my words. It’s going to get worse now that Leonard is involved.”

Ah, there it was— the real fly in her potion. Eddie tracked the article again, going through Skiver’s quotes with a critical eye. He cringed at the sudden slimy sensation in his gut. It was a feeling he’d gotten more and more used to where Vivian’s ex-husband was concerned. As a matter of fact, Eddie had experienced it for the very first time about seventeen years ago when a much younger Vivian had introduced him to Skiver as ‘this cute bloke who was just hanging around the studio’.

A week later, they eloped.

If he’d known then what he knew now, he would have gone with his gut, tracked them down and Banished Skiver to Nova Scotia in ten seconds flat.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t and now he had this to deal with.

_Vivian is not a good parent. If I was in the picture, the poor kid wouldn’t act out like this. It’s a cry for help._

 “Well, he’s certainly laying it on thick,” he commented dryly. The prick probably thought he was clever too. Unfortunately for him, Eddie had a lot of experience reading between the lines. He sighed heavily and folded up the wretched paper before tossing it out of sight. “He’s going to hit for full custody again,” he announced finally.

There was no sense in sugar coating it, but Vivian’s despairing expression made him wish that he had. “Why?” she demanded shakily. “He walked out on her when she was five. He hasn’t even sent her an owl since. Gods, Paris barely even knows the man! Now he suddenly wants her back?”

Eddie’s expression hardened. “You know, I hate to say I told you so but a long time ago, I did tell you that marrying Leonard Skiver was a mistake.”

“I was a child!” Vivian snapped. “It was my first real record deal. I had just met him and he was so nice... how on earth was I supposed to know he was only after my money?”

Because Eddie had _told_ her so. Repeatedly. Why else would Skiver— a then part time reporter with the Wizarding Wireless Network— be at the studio on the exact same day as the sole heir to Celestina Warbeck’s multimillion Galleon fortune? He had charmed his way into Vivian’s life, nearly bled the fortune dry, and by the time Paris was four, it had all gone to hell. Finally, Vivian saw enough sense to demand a divorce and Eddie had taken great pleasure in drawing up the papers. It was a little too late for damage control though. It had taken years for her career to take off again and Paris got pushed to the sidelines in the process.

“What’s done is done,” he told her. “No point crying over spilt potion, yeah?”

“Why is he going after Paris?” Vanessa demanded again. “Why does he even…”

“Think, Vivian. What would Skiver suddenly want with the daughter he hasn’t spoken to in ten years?”

He thought he saw the exact moment her eyes widened with understanding. Vivian sagged back in her chair again. When she spoke, her voice was heavy. “The trust fund.”

Eddie nodded grimly. The trust fund Celestina Warbeck had set up for her granddaughter. Three million Galleons, give or take, to kick start Paris’s musical career when she came of age. But until that happy time, said trust fund was in the hands of her parent.

The parent with full custody.

“That bastard,” Vivian hissed. She looked livid. “So that’s what he wants!”

“He’s in debt,” Eddie explained. “Made some bad calls at the last Quidditch Cup. Let’s just say Mr Skiver is running out of options and Paris might be his only ticket out.”

“And you know this how, exactly?” Vivian demanded suspiciously.

“It’s my job,” he replied tersely. That and he’d been keeping a close watch on Leonard Skiver for years in case something like this cropped up. Eddie didn’t trust the bastard as far as he could throw him. He had spent many a sleepless night worrying about Paris, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Apparently, it was a good thing too.

He could see what Skiver was doing. It was so ridiculously easy.

All he had to do was make a few semi-sincere remarks to a mouthpiece like Skeeter. Team that up with Paris’s recent rebellious streak, paint Vivian out to be the negligent parent, and then hit the Wizengamot for full custody — all for the ‘good of the child’. The balance tips and suddenly Mr Skiver has a brand new daughter and three million Galleons in his vaults.

Eddie’s jaw clenched involuntarily. If he ever came across the bastard, he would hex him inside out.

He had to suppress a jolt of alarm when Vivian’s fingers wrapped around his. For the first time, he saw sincerity in her eyes. For the first time, he saw her scared. “I know I’m not the best parent. I know you and I don’t agree on a lot of things. I don’t admit it and I don’t want to hear it but I do know. But _you_ know that I’ll do anything to keep Paris safe. Her father is a bastard and he’ll wreck her life. Don’t...please don’t let him hurt her.”

“He won’t,” Eddie replied firmly. On an impulse, he squeezed her hand back. It was a rare moment— this display of friendship in an otherwise antagonistic working relationship— but in this, he was firmly on her side.

He would do whatever it took to keep Paris away from her louse of a father.

“Get those poor kids from your PR team back in here,” he told her. “You’re going away for a while.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well,” Lisa declared a few hours later. She sorted through the myriad papers on the desk, looking over tour schedules and such. “I guess that’s settled then.”

Next to her, Zacharias Smith nodded vigorously. “A few appearances in America will do wonders for your international audiences,” he told Vivian proudly, as if it had been his idea in the first place. “A little meet and greet with the fans never hurt.”

Eddie nodded in silent agreement. That and it would be the best way to keep Vivian and Paris out of the papers. If they weren’t here in the first place, there would be no new scandals to report. Eddie nodded in satisfaction. In a month, this whole Skiver situation would blow over and things could go back to normal.

“And don’t worry, Miss Warbeck,” Lisa added earnestly. “We’ll make sure Paris stays in school this time.”

Eddie shared a meaningful glance with his client. Finally, Vivian cleared her throat and turned back to the crew. “No,” she said firmly. “Paris will be accompanying me. It’s time she saw what goes into making a real career in music. It will be good for her.”

And she wouldn’t have a chance to cause more trouble while her mother was away. No, it was best to keep an eye on Paris, for now. Oh, she wouldn’t like it one bit, but there was no other way to keep that kid in line.

“I’ll see about the Portkey then,” Lisa acquiesced meekly. If she was confused about Paris joining in on the trip, she kept it to herself and didn’t ask questions. Eddie had a feeling she would go far in the business.

That Zacharias kid, not so much. “I must advise against that course of action,” he declared with authority. “Paris will be nothing but trouble and with this new story in the papers, her presence might jeopardise your entire…”

“Finish that thought at the risk of jeopardising your job,” Vivian interrupted smoothly. Zacharias shut his gob with an audible _snap_ andshe smiled pleasantly _._ “She’s coming with; end of discussion. Beauxbatons will simply have to wait a while.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Paris had skipped school anyway. Eddie sighed, feeling rather exhausted all of a sudden. When this was over, he was going to see about transferring the kid to Hogwarts. Aside from everything else, it was notoriously hard to break out of. She couldn’t get in trouble if she couldn’t leave the school grounds in the first place.

“That just leaves the question of security.”

Eddie’s train of thought broke at Lisa’s soft voice. The girl had an armful of folders which she dropped on the desk in front of Vivian. “Of course, we understand you’re very busy, Miss Warbeck. If you like, Zach and I will just go over these and select your security detail for the tour. You don’t have to…”

Vivian shook her head. “I think I’ll do it. You know, just to be thorough.”

Her eyes drifted to Eddie again and they shared the same look. If Leonard suddenly decided to come after them, things could get very bad very fast. It would be best to have someone capable around.

Vivian waved an impatient hand. “Get to it then.”

Lisa waved her wand and one of the folders flipped opened. Eddie stared intently as the spell took effect. A shimmering, silver figure appeared in front of him. A tall, well built figure with muscular arms and a grim expression.

“Donald Noye,” Lisa stated without preamble. Noye’s magical representation straightened up as if aware that he was being evaluated. He pulled out a wand and performed some elaborate combat manoeuvre as Vivian watched keenly. “He used to be a Beater with the Chudley Cannons but then he took a pretty bad hit and shattered his left kneecap,” Lisa rattled off. “He’s only been a bodyguard for a few years but he’s got some high profile clients...”

“Pass,” Vivian stated firmly. “In fact, pass on anyone with a permanent injury. We’re looking for an asset here, not a liability. If they’re not fit, toss them out.”

A few folders obligingly slunk off the desk.

Over the next hour and a half, Vivian rejected four other candidates. Lucas Haywood was too inexperienced, John Dawlish was too old, Abigail Lester was reckless and Jeremy McLaggen had been known to take bribes and talk to the tabloids.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Eddie groaned after two useless hours of searching. “Is there one person in that bleeding pile that isn’t a total incompetent?”

Lisa gave him a small smile and slid another folder forward. “You might want to take a look at this one,” she said.

Eddie sighed impatiently and cast the now familiar spell. The silver figure that emerged in front of him almost made him drop his wand. Lisa smiled and Zacharias choked on a sip of tea. Vivian, surprisingly enough, remained impassive. But then, she did have experience with dealing with celebrities.

“Harry Potter,” Lisa announced— a little unnecessarily, because really, who didn’t recognize that man? Potter’s visage snapped around to face her, his expression intent and grim. Eddie took note of the lean build and messy hair. There was even the hint of a lightning scar on the figure’s forehead, if you squinted hard enough. That was the real deal all right.

Vivian leaned forward as Potter’s representation performed the obligatory manoeuvres and training positions. He moved quickly— capable, decisive motions that had obviously been acquired over years of experience in the field. “Go on,” she said distractedly.

“Well, he’s been in private security for about seven years now. He was an Auror before that,” Lisa replied. “Perfect training scores with the DMLE, a decent repertoire of hexes and he’s been in... combat situations before.”

Eddie snorted. That was one way to describe winning a war, he supposed. How does one go from being a lauded hero to a glorified bouncer, exactly? He resolved to look into it later.

Lisa responded with a faint smile and went on. “He’s got an impressive clientele, including the Minister of Magic. He’s good with direct confrontation and well versed with Auror processes and tactics. I’d say the only downside is that his...well, fame makes discretion a challenge.”

Zacharias must have been feeling left out, because he took the opportunity to put his two Knuts in. “I’m sure he’s perfect if you want a ‘celebrity’for security detail,” he bit out snidely. “But I happen to know that Potter isn’t all he’s cracked up to be— pretty reckless, if you ask me. I was in his year at Hogwarts, you know and personally _I_ think he’s just…”

“We could use someone who’s good at taking risks,” Vivian broke in thoughtfully. She gestured vaguely at Potter’s file. “Put him in the ‘maybe’ pile.”

Zacharias looked less than pleased but he slid the folder over. “Shall we make a selection then?” he asked. They were almost done with all the folders by now. Only a couple remained to be seen.

“Paris will need her own security detail,” Lisa pointed out.

“She doesn’t need her own bodyguard,” Zacharias scoffed. “Why would she when they’re all going to be in the same place all the…”

“Not all the time,” Lisa corrected. “She’s sixteen. If you think she’s not going to take off on her own every once in a while, you’re mistaken.”

Eddie nodded approvingly and even Vivian smiled. Lisa definitely had the right stuff. Besides, given their circumstances, Paris’s security was even more critical than Vivian’s. In fact, it was downright crucial if they planned to keep that kid from making an even bigger mess of things.

“Let’s get on with it then,” he suggested.

Unfortunately, this turned out to be harder than expected. Vivian quickly shot down the remaining candidates. They were neither experienced nor quick thinkers— which meant that if Paris wanted to give them the slip and run away, she damn well could.

“We need more options,” Eddie declared, scrubbing a tired hand over his forehead.

“That’s all of them,” Zacharias replied.

Eddie’s tired gaze drifted to a folder he hadn’t seen yet. It had been stuffed under the rest, evidently discarded. “How about that one?” he asked.

Zacharias frowned as he retrieved it and leafing through the pages. “What’s this one doing here?” he asked Lisa. “Didn’t we agree not to waste time on...”

Lisa shrugged. “I must have picked it up by accident. Just put it back, I’ll throw it out later.”

Eddie watched the exchange, somewhat perplexed. “Now, wait a minute,” he protested as she made to stuff the folder in her briefcase. “Let’s take a look, at least.”

Lisa shook her head. “Oh, you don’t want this one,” she told him earnestly. “I’m not even sure how it got mixed up in there anyway…”

“Complete waste of time,” Zacharias agreed. His mouth was a thin, grim line. Eddie frowned. They both seemed very eager to avoid the file altogether.

“Show me anyway,” Vivian ordered, sounding tired. “It’s not like we’re spoilt for choice anyway.”

Lisa sighed but obliged without protest. The silver mist flew from the folder and took shape in front of him. The shimmering waves of magic gave way to a solid figure— a slender physique, alert stance, subtle movements and an efficient aura.

Eddie liked what he saw.

“Hello,” Vivian all but purred. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Her dark, lidded eyes roved the younger man’s body with definite, not entirely professional interest.

Eddie suppressed a smirk. He had a hunch they were putting the bloke in the ‘maybe’ pile. Just to be sure, he plucked the file from Lisa’s fingers and roved through it. By the time he was done, he was fairly impressed.

“For Salazar’s sake,” he exclaimed. “He’s fantastic. Why haven’t we heard of this Draco Malfoy bloke before this?”

Lisa cleared her throat uncomfortably and pointedly looked away but Zacharias jumped in at once, armed with his self righteous scowl. “For good reason,” he said smugly. “Draco Malfoy is bad news on general principle. A soulless, vicious, morally bankrupt waste of space.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at that vehement assessment. Apparently, someone had a bit of a grudge. “You know him personally, then?”

“He was in our year at Hogwarts,” Lisa put in, cutting Zacharias off before he could start off again. “Zach has a point. You don’t want him anywhere near your daughter, trust me.”

“And why is that?”

“He’s an ex Death Eater for one thing,” Zach sneered.

The folder fell from Eddie’s grasp, thudding softly on the table. The sound wasn’t enough to mask Vivian’s gasp of horror.

“It’s true,” Zach went on, clearly pleased with her reaction. “He let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. That’s when they took over. The Ministry doesn’t like to talk about it, but I was _there._ I saw the whole thing.”

 “And they let him protect people?” Vivian demanded, sounding appalled. “Gods, what has the world come to?”

“Well, to be fair,” Lisa added hesitantly. “He was only sixteen when he took the Mark and general consensus was that he was pressured into it. The Wizengamot cleared the case in two days.  I mean it does make sense, what with his family and all…”

“You can’t be serious!” Zach snapped. “He’s a bleeding criminal! I don’t even know why they let him back in the country at all!”

Ah, yes. Now that Eddie was looking over the file again, he noticed that Malfoy had spent a lot of time abroad. Evidently, he had trained himself in a number of martial art forms and had a rather unique skill set. He had returned to England about four years ago and he’d only been handed a few cases since— most of them involving back up at some minor Ministry function or the other. So the man was good at keeping a low profile then. He wouldn’t be easily recognized, and that was a plus. Eddie had a feeling the guy was a good pick to tail a teenage girl all day. Something told him Malfoy wouldn’t be easy to slip away from. Besides, they already had a heavy hitter with Potter on the team. Malfoy’s stealth and diverse tactics could prove useful in the event of anything... untoward, although he dearly hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Hire him.”

He only realised he had spoken out loud when three aghast expressions whipped around to him. He almost cringed when Vivian’s eyes widened in horror but it was too late to take it back now. “I’m serious,” he insisted as the shocked silence bore on. “He’s got what we need. I say he’s in.”

“Are you insane?” Vivian shrilled. “You want me to entrust my _child_ to a Death Eater?”

“He’s done a lot of good work since,” Eddie replied evenly. “Decent record, no complaints. If anything, he’s better than anyone else in that pile. And really, the boy was _sixteen_ when it happened. You of all people should know all about making bad decisions at that age.”

Her mouth twisted in distaste and he suppressed a smirk. “Nice, Eddie,” she sniped. “Very classy.” She snatched the file up and skimmed through it again. As she read, the frown softened into something more thoughtful. “Really?” she asked sceptically. “This bloke?”

“Trust me,” Eddie said firmly. “I have a good feeling.”

She sighed, but relented with a nod. “Fine. But this is on you.”

Zacharias looked fit to explode by this time, and frankly Eddie counted that as a plus. “You can’t be serious!” he snapped. “I’m telling you, I knew the bloke in school! He’s a complete waste of our time. For Merlin’s sake, he’s a _Slytherin!_ Am I to understand that we’re going to trust a Slytherin with...”

“Do you know who else here is a Slytherin, Mr Smith?” Eddie asked dryly. He raised an eyebrow as Zacharias shut his gob and turned to him. “That’s right,” he smirked. “Class of 1963, at your service. And a proud member of the Slug Club as well.”

Zacharias looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “My apologies,” he said stiffly. “But that is not the only reason I’m objecting to Malfoy. He’s a…”

“May I ask you something?” Eddie interrupted smoothly. “While Malfoy was busy bringing Hogwarts down, what were _you_ doing?” His sullen silence made a thin smile stretch across Eddie’s lips. “Defending the castle, were you? Helping little children to safety? Standing by your allies in the face of certain death?”

Not a word. Zacharias scowled and averted his gaze. Eddie put the two folders in front of Vivian. “The final call is up to you. We’re not assigning you someone you’re not comfortable with. But if I were you, I’d pick carefully anyway.”

Vivian worried her lip as she considered it. “You’re sure?” she asked quietly.

She trusted his decision. She wanted him to give the all clear. He would almost go so far as to say he was touched by that. Instead, he nodded firmly in response.

“And you’ll be keeping an eye on us from here?” Vivian insisted, apparently intent on securing every base.

“I won’t let you out of my sight,” Eddie promised.

Vivian nodded and gestured to the two folders. “These two then,” she told Lisa and Zacharias. “Make it happen. We leave in a week.”

 

* * *

 

 

Neville strode down one of the many rough gravel paths of Godric’s Hollow. The streets were all but empty, save for a little girl doodling on a wall with a piece of chalk. She took one look at his uniform and scampered off. Neville shook his head in amusement. Even after living through a war, heading a rebellion and being Head Auror for all these years, the idea that anyone could be intimidated by _him_ made him chuckle a bit.

His good cheer faded a bit as the cottage came into view. Neville sighed as he noted the unkempt lawn and neglected flowerbeds. Apparently, Harry was still waging a stubborn war against the forces of good housekeeping.

Shaking his head, he rapped at the door and when that didn’t get him a response, he strode right in. Harry unsurprisingly, was nowhere in sight. The house was quiet and still. It wasn’t messy, exactly. There were no scattered clothes or dirty dishes lying about. No, it had more of an _unlived in_ feel to it, like no one had been in here for years. A thin film of dust coated the furniture. Neville found himself heaving a weary sigh. He had a feeling he knew where Harry was after all. He took the stairs to the basement, making for the training room.

His suspicions were confirmed as soon as he hit the last creaky step.

Harry was clad in a pair of black sweat pants. Sweat trickled down his nape and tracked its way down his bare back. His muscles were taut as he faced off with his opponent— a tattered, half decimated training dummy. His back was turned but Neville could picture the look of intense focus on his face— that expression of complete and utter concentration that he just associated with Harry nowadays. Sometimes, Neville tried to think really hard about what Harry looked like when he was relaxed— when he wasn’t focused on a target or caught up in a case— and he drew a complete blank.

It was starting to worry him.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to spar?” Harry asked without turning around.

Of course.

Neville shucked his robes off and his wand slipped into his palm, coming over to face Harry. He had one second to note the dark circles beneath his friend’s eyes and the stiff pull of his mouth, and then Harry’s wand was up, firing spells at him with alarming accuracy. Neville dodged a Stunning Hex and had to execute a quick roll on the floor before retaliating with his own spells. Harry dodged a Stunner and deflected a Body Bind, sending it hurtling at the dummy.

“Going easy on me today, Head Auror?” he asked dryly.

“Perish the thought,” Neville retorted, firing off another Hex which Harry dodged and deflected expertly. Neville had to fight a sudden pang of envy in his gut. He was easily Harry’s equal in the field but the man did have a knack for anticipating attacks that Neville hadn’t quite been able to grasp. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was half the Head Auror Harry could have been, had he stayed on with the DMLE. Instantly irritated, he tried a new spell and watched with reluctant gratification as it caught Harry’s shoulder, sending him flying into a wall.

“Sorry,” he offered, approaching to help him up. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yes, you did,” Harry muttered, dusting himself off as he stood up without the offered assistance. His green eyes met Neville’s with the hint of a smile. “I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”

He would, too. The next time Neville used that spell, not only would Harry be prepared to throw it off, he would probably have three separate ways to deflect it, intensify its effects, and fling it back at him.

Suddenly, Neville didn’t want to spar anymore. He tucked his wand back in its holster. Harry just raised an eyebrow and resumed assaulting the punching bag in the corner. That was one of his _I know you want to talk about something I’m not going to like so I’m going to ignore you_ moves. Neville was intimately familiar with almost all of them.

“I have something for you,” he announced anyway.

Harry ignored him in favour of a roundhouse kick.

“It’s a new case,” Neville persisted, trying his best not to liken this conversation to coaxing a hissing cat out of a corner with a can of tuna.

“I like new cases,” Harry replied, a little too evenly. “I _don’t_ like cases that only find their way to me because they’re not worth precious DMLE resources.”

Neville ignored the barb. Harry had never quite forgiven him for that dreary four day surveillance assignment on the Hungarian Ambassador. “It was one time and you owed me a favour,” he said tersely. That and Harry had seriously needed something to occupy his time when Ginny left (not that Neville was stupid enough to say so). “Besides, this isn’t one of those. The DMLE doesn’t involve itself in private cases, even with these high profile celebrity types.”

Harry didn’t respond for a while, still preoccupied with his workout. But after a minute or two, he pulled back and held a hand out, silently demanding the file that Neville had been holding on to. By the time he was done flicking through it, his mouth was a thin line.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, tossing the file on a bench. When he turned back to Neville, his expression was annoyed. “Really, a bodyguard? Was Donald Noye out sick or something?”

“They specifically asked for you,” Neville explained. “Apparently nobody else would do.”

“Well, tell them thanks, but no thanks,” Harry groused irritably. “I’m a professional security consultant. I deal with real threats. Mass curses, assassination attempts on the Minister...”

“Good,” Neville replied firmly, thrusting the file back in his hands. “So a month in the States tailing Vivian Warbeck and her teenage daughter will be easy money in the vault, don’t you think?” Harry scowled and he seemed to be gearing up to protest again but Neville beat him to it. “Enough already,” he snapped in exasperation. “Why do we have to go through this every time I get you a job?”

“I never asked for your help,” Harry snapped back. “You and the bleeding DMLE can go…”

“I’m not here as Head Auror. I’m here as a friend with a job you’re suited for,” Neville informed him. “This has nothing to do with the DMLE or your dismissal— which I would like to point out _again_ , was seven bloody years ago.”

Seven years that had left Harry angry and bitter ever since. Even so, Neville couldn’t blame him entirely. It had been a mistake to put a nineteen year old in charge of a mission, even if said nineteen year old had taken down a Dark Wizard and won a war. The fact was that Harry had barely finished his training at the time, and his superiors should have known that. Not surprisingly, the mission had failed spectacularly. The suspect had escaped, a building had collapsed, people were injured...it was a whole mess Neville would much rather not think about now. Even worse, Harry had been knocked out, mostly because he had insisted on jumping into the fray without a partner to watch his back. The resulting damage, Harry’s own injuries and his stubborn refusal to work with a partner —literally _any_ partner, even Ron— had not gone down well with then Head Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry had been dismissed from the force and had been flying solo ever since.

 _‘Working alone’_ as he liked to put it. Neville disapproved wholeheartedly, as did Ginny. She had broken things off with Harry two years into this whole mess, stating that if he really wanted to be alone he could start with her. It was yet another complication that Harry refused to deal with, and now it was entirely possible that the only person he actually spoke to on a regular basis was Neville himself.

Which just made him feel worse and more determined to get Harry a job that wouldn’t involve a lot of drama and collapsing buildings. It was the least he could do, and he really wanted to think that he went through all this trouble because Harry was still a good friend. Not because if Harry _had_ retained a position on the force, _he_ would be Head Auror now. The last thing this fucked up equation needed was more unresolved guilt.

“Fine,” Harry bit out sullenly. “But I’m telling you now, I won’t like it.”

Neville’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you,” he replied, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “Trust me, it’ll be fine. You leave in a week.”

Harry waved him off with a terse gesture and Neville turned, intending to leave.

“Hey, Neville.”

He stopped and turned to give Harry an enquiring look.

Harry’s expression was neutral but there was a tight pull to his jaw. “Say hi to Ginny for me. And take care of her if you know what’s good for you.”

Neville nodded tersely, stubbornly refusing to think about how the hell Harry even _knew._ For Merlin’s sake, even Ron didn’t know he was seeing Ginny and he was her brother. Neville left without another word.

 _Just what I need in my life_ , he thought sullenly as he trudged his way back up the stairs. _More unresolved guilt._

Out of pure pettiness, he didn’t inform Harry that he was going to have a partner for this gig. Let the wanker figure it out for himself when he got there. Neville did enough for him anyway.

 

* * *

 

The very same day, Blaise made his brisk way down the halls of Zabini’s Armed Protection Services (aka ZAPS) to Training Area Four— allegedly, the last place Draco had been spotted.

He pursed his lips as he entered the room, clutching the folder just a little tighter. “I’m warning you now,” he spoke clearly and firmly, addressing the seemingly empty space at large. “If you scare ten years off my life again, I’m docking your pay.”

Surprisingly, the empty threat worked. Draco dropped down to the ground from wherever he’d been perched, about three inches from him. Blaise squeaked and jumped back. He would _never_ get used to that.

“You’re no fun, Boss,” Draco drawled, running a hand through his messy hair. There was a streak of dirt down his pale cheek and his skin was flushed. Blaise figured that this was one of those intensive workout days. At least the prat had a shirt on this time.

“And don’t call me ‘Boss’ either,” he grumbled. “It makes me wonder what you’re up to and I do enough of that anyway.”

“Should have thought of that before you hired me,” Draco retorted smoothly. He ignored Blaise’s scathing glare in favour of the training bar apparatus. Blaise had never really seen a purpose to the dratted things, but apparently Draco made good use of them. He sprang from Blaise’s side and alighted on the bars in a smooth pounce, swinging upside down from them and grinning smugly.

“Show off,” Blaise accused. “Stop faffing about for a second. I’ve got a job for you.”

“Oh, joy,” Draco retorted. He nicked the folder and commenced reading it, still upside down by the way. “What is it this time? Another riveting evening at a Ministry Fundraiser for War Widows? Or did I luck out and get to play surveillance at one of Loony Lovegood’s book signings again?”

“Luna only hires you because she likes you,” Blaise informed him. “Salazar knows why. Point is you’re not really in a position to refuse work so I suggest you shut it.”

Any momentary guilt he may have experienced at his bluntness immediately disappeared when Draco flung the folder at his head. Blaise caught it before it connected with his face, fixing a stern look at his irritating employee. “I’m serious,” he said sternly. “People are still tetchy about the war and they’re not going to hire you just because you’re pretty. So play nice.”

“I hope you choke,” Draco retorted, but he didn’t refute any of Blaise’s sound arguments. What was the point? They both knew he was right. Draco was good at what he did. He was smart, resourceful and not opposed to using Muggle and magical techniques in the field, so long as they got the job done. He was also discreet and subtle and had a knack for identifying a threat before it became critical. By all accounts, he was the ideal bodyguard.

But they lived in a decidedly un-ideal world— a world which Draco was exceptionally unsuited for, thanks to a faded but unmistakable mark on his arm. Not many people were willing to take a chance on him on Blaise’s good word alone. Those that did seldom complained, but they were few and far between. In fact, hiring Draco had actually hurt his business considerably— not that Blaise ever planned on saying so.

No, he would do his best for his friend and his business for as long as he could. But Draco was damn well going to help him along.

“Need I remind you why you even came back to England?” he asked dryly. “Redeem the family name, moving on from the past... is any of this ringing a bell? Or was that just a lot of talk? Shall I see about getting you a Portkey back to Singapore?”

“Shut up and brief me on the damn case.”

Blaise was tempted to point out that technically he couldn’t do both. Instead, he rattled off the specifics in the folder to a still upside down Draco, quickly and efficiently.

“So that’s it?” Draco remarked once he’d finished. “I’m supposed to play babysitter for some spoilt, teenage celebrity for a month? At least tell me the pay’s good.”

“Better than you’ll make at Luna’s book signings.”

He stepped back as Draco alighted from his perch with a flip, landing on sure feet with the agility of a cat. But when he reached for the folder again, his expression was sombre. “Why did they ask for me?” he asked quietly.

Why, indeed. No one ever requested Draco’s services. At best, there was grudging acceptance; at worst, outright refusal. But that was another thing Blaise was never going to say. Instead he squeezed Draco’s shoulder in a show of support. “Because you’re good at what you do,” he said firmly. “They’d be idiots not to hire you.” Draco still appeared unconvinced but Blaise was having none of it. “It’ll be good for you. And who knows? Maybe something better will come out of it, yeah?”

Draco raised a sceptical eyebrow but he nodded tersely. “Fine, set it up,” he replied, with a careless shrug. “It’s not like I’m in a position to turn down work.”

“You leave in a week,” Blaise told him. “Oh, and you’ll be working with a partner. Probably Donald Noye, I’m not sure who they’re hiring. That won’t be a problem, right?”

Draco shrugged in response and Blaise turned to leave. He couldn’t send the owl with Draco’s acceptance fast enough. No point giving Vivian Warbeck any time to change her mind, after all.

 

* * *

**One week later:**

Not surprisingly, Eddie’s weekend began with a round of shrill screaming.

“Oh my _god,_ you’re unbelievable! I can’t believe you kidnapped me from school for this!”

“Sure, because you were obviously planning to study for your NEWTS this weekend. Don’t give me that look, young lady. Most kids would kill to just up and take off to New York at a moment’s notice.”

“Maybe that’s because those kids wouldn’t be stuck with you!”

“Paris, so help me Merlin, I am this close to...”

Eddie tuned out the argument and stepped out to the balcony. Vivian’s penthouse apartment afforded a fantastic view of Hyde Park. He had to hand it to the Muggles, they knew how to live. Vivian had moved into this district for the anonymity a non magical area afforded, but she had stayed for the view and the sleek, modernistic vibe of the place. It made Eddie’s little Diagon Alley flat look like a dump. Even Paris wasn’t opposed to spending time here despite having to be within ten feet of her mother.

“I don’t want to go with you! I had plans with my friends!”

“So there’s still a pub in England you _haven’t_ been thrown out of yet? I’m not discussing this with you, Paris. You’re going and that’s final!”

“Go to hell, Mum!”

Well, most of the time anyway.

A few seconds later, Lisa— and Eddie was seriously starting to suspect the girl was omnipresent— slipped out to the balcony and came to stand beside him. He noticed her strained expression and gave her an empathetic smile. “What a way to start the weekend, yeah?”

She shrugged and leaned against the iron wrought railing, looking out at the Park. “It gives you some perspective, doesn’t it?” she remarked thoughtfully. “Apparently, fame and tons of money in the vault isn’t everything.”

Eddie chuckled. “That’s a good lesson to learn while you’re still young. Keep it in mind and you’ll go far, kid.”

Lisa just shook her head and rubbed her temples. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” she asked. “It feels like we’re setting ourselves up for something worse, if you ask me.”

“I suppose we’ll find out. Is the security detail in place yet?”

Potter and Malfoy should be in New York by now. He had only spoken to them briefly. Well, he had spoken to Malfoy briefly on the Floo. Potter had only sent a terse owl, mentioning his fees and asking for the hotel details. Eddie wished he could have given them a proper debrief. They both seemed competent enough but there were a few things he would have liked to mention. Malfoy in particular, needed to know what he was up against. Paris was no walk in the park.

As if summoned, the young lady in question made an appearance. She stormed out of the bedroom and made for the balcony, apparently trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and her mother. The door all but flew off its hinges as Paris hurtled out.

“Eddie, we need to talk,” she snapped, casting a disparaging look at Lisa. “Go file something. He’s busy.”

Lisa pursed her lips but withdrew gracefully. “We received an owl from Potter and Malfoy left a message at the front desk,” she told Eddie. “They’re both in New York. Good day, Mr West. Miss Warbeck.”

Paris waited until she left before huffing and draping herself across the railing, glowering down at the streets as she indulged in a massive sulk.

“I can’t believe you threw me under the Knight Bus,” she groused. “I thought we were solid, Eddie.”

Eddie chuckled and draped an arm around her slim shoulders. Even at her cattiest, Paris still managed to inspire fondness in him. She was practically of age now, but he still saw traces of the toddler he had once known from time to time— particularly when she pouted like this. “Oh, come on,” he cajoled gently. “It’s not that bad. I worked the tour out so you hit all your favourite spots. New York, California...it’ll be just like a vacation.”

Paris scoffed. “With my mother. Some vacation.” She flicked her long, blonde hair over one shoulder— a gesture oddly reminiscent of said mother. It never ceased to amaze him how little Paris resembled Vivian in looks but how they were almost identical in mannerisms. Vivian was all curves and dark hair, reflecting the classic elegance that Celestina had carried so well. Paris was slim— on the verge of boyish— with curly blonde hair that framed a heart shaped face. All baby blue eyes and long lashes. They couldn’t look more different if they tried. But their mannerisms— the smile, the way they wore their hair loose over one shoulder, the flash in their eyes when they were particularly displeased? Identical. They were rather spot on personality-wise too, although Eddie confessed he had more patience with Paris’s tantrums than Vivian’s.

“Why am I going to America, Eddie?” she asked suddenly.

“I already told you. Your mum’s going on tour and we thought...”

“This is because of what Leonard said in the papers, isn’t it?”

Eddie sighed heavily. She had always been a sharp kid. He squeezed her shoulders comfortingly. “I don’t want you to worry about that,” he said firmly. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I know,” Paris murmured. “You always are.”

They shared a moment of comfortable silence. Paris leaned against him, seeking reassurance and he held her there comfortably. The professional in him knew this was for the best but there was a protective, paternal part of him that worried, that wanted her close where he could keep her safe.

“It’s going to be fine, Princess,” he promised. “You just do your best to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t count on it,” Paris muttered. “Nobody tells me what to do, Eddie. Not you and especially not _her_.”

“Paris, we’re just trying to...”

“I know,” she snapped. “It doesn’t mean I have to like having my life planned out for me. I’m always being told what to do and where to go and how to dress. If it’s not you, it’s Mum. If it’s not Mum, it’s that Skeeter woman at the _Prophet._ How come Rita Skeeter gets more of a say in my life than I do?”

“Paris, we’ve talked about this,” Eddie said gently. “It’s just part of life as a celebrity. It’s the business.”

“Yeah,” Paris muttered bitterly. “We wouldn’t want to do anything that screws with the _business_ , would we?”

“Paris...”

“Forget it, Eddie. I’ll go, alright? It’s not like I have a choice anyway.”

She looked so resentful and unhappy. Something inside him twisted uncomfortably at having to put her through this. “I’m sorry. Things will be back to normal soon. Just try and have a good time, yeah?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she replied, with a faint smirk. “I plan to.”

Before he could address that very ominous remark, she was already pulling out her own personal Portkey— a heart shaped locket— from her pocket. “I’m out,” she informed him. “Tell Mum I’ll see her in New York.” And before he could so much as try to stop her, she blew him a kiss, palmed the pendant and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“Bloody brilliant,” Eddie muttered. That kid was going to be the death of him one day. Well, at least she’d be where she was supposed to be. Now to find Vivian and send her off as well— right after she threw an epic tantrum over Paris’s latest staged rebellion.

Eddie turned and nearly ran into her. He staggered to a halt when he caught sight of her standing a few feet away. She was staring at the spot where Paris had been not two seconds ago. Eddie’s gut twisted as he wondered how much she’d heard.

“Vivian, she just...”

“I know,” she replied quietly. “I heard most of it.”

“Oh.”

She smiled but he caught the flash of pain in her eyes. “She didn’t even want to take a Portkey with me, huh?”

He had no answer for that but then, she didn’t really ask for one. Instead, she shook her head, straightened up and held out her own Portkey. “Goodbye, Eddie,” she said, suddenly all business again. “See you in a month.”

And with that, she faded away.

Eddie sighed wearily and made his way out of the penthouse. With any luck, things would be smooth sailing from here and he would be able to put this whole matter to rest. Everything was going according to plan.

For now, at least.

 

* * *

**Meanwhile in New York:**

 

The first thing Harry did after sending his bags up to his room was to get a black coffee, no sugar. It was the one paltry indulgence he allowed himself while on a job, and Merlin knew he’d be up all night for the next month and a half. Vivian Warbeck and her daughter would be arriving any minute now with their entourage.

For the moment however, he had a moment to himself and he chose to spend it in the hotel lobby, looking out at the city. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to New York but the sight of that majestic skyline still got to him. Skyscrapers and screeching traffic and the never ending stream of pedestrians making their way from one end of the city to another. It honestly amazed him how the magical community thrived in such a city, a secret out in the open. 

In England, wizards confined themselves to hidden towns within walls and magical barriers, disguises and illusions. They kept to themselves in secret little nooks and corners where Muggles would never think of looking for them. If and when they ventured out to non magical areas, they made efforts to blend in and remain innocuous.

New York played by a different set of rules. Here, magic thrived side by side with the Muggle world. It was out there on the streets, right out in the open for anyone to see— provided one was looking hard enough. From where he was standing, Harry caught a glimpse of a taxi trundling off the road and disappearing through a wall. An ordinary barn owl hooted as it settled on a telephone wire, but there was a small scroll attached to its left foot. A woman in purple robes slipped into an alley and whispered something at the wall, before disappearing into a staircase that emerged out of nowhere.

For that matter, this very hotel housed both Muggle and magical guests. And yet, not one person seemed to notice the constant stream of curiously dressed guests heading to the ‘Out of Order’ elevator which led to a perfectly functional set of suites on the top floor.

Harry shook his head in bemusement and sipped his coffee. Muggles were truly oblivious. None of the people passing by the streets even batted an eyelid at the strange happenings all around them. Presumably, they were too caught up in their own lives to pay attention. Or maybe they experienced so much outright weirdness in this city that they just shrugged it off, convinced themselves that they were seeing things and moved on. Whatever it was, it worked well.

And it would make _his_ job a lot easier. 

Harry’s thoughts went back to his curious client. He had done a little boning up on the Warbecks before leaving the country. Apparently, he had his work cut out for him. Vivian Warbeck was famous and not just ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’ famous. Of course, he knew _of_ her. Ginny was a big fan. In fact, she had left a few records behind when she had moved out. They were probably still at Godric’s Hollow, shelved out of sight in some closet. Harry scowled and shoved the thought aside. He didn’t miss Ginny. Not really. And he didn’t resent the fact that she was with Neville now. It hurt a bit, but he was man enough to admit that it wasn’t about her. He didn’t miss _her_. He missed having...someone.

Anyone.

Harry frowned and shook himself firmly. These were just the kind of distracting notions he needed to avoid. _This_ was why people got hurt around him. If he couldn’t keep his focus, things would go wrong. Just like seven years ago.

 _Alone_ , he reminded himself firmly. _It’s better this way. Always has been, always will be._

With that, he drained his coffee. There would be time to mull over his depressing personal life later— _after_ the job was done with. The client came first after all. He turned away from the window, intending to go to his room and hit the shower.

That’s when he heard the soft ‘thud’ of a bag being deposited on the floor. Harry turned instinctively, a habit born of years of training.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Harry froze mid-step and dropped the cup. His eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he stood there, staring at the man walking down the hallway, heading straight for him.

Draco Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

 

Malfoy hadn’t really changed much over six years. He was still tall and slim, with keen eyes and sharp features. And he still drew Harry’s attention from all the way across the hall. There were a few marked differences though and they didn’t escape Harry’s sharp, professional assessment. For one thing, Malfoy no longer looked...what was the word? Hunted? Yes, that was it. The wary demeanour and wan pallor that the war had inflicted was gone. This Malfoy held himself with an air of confidence. The sharp Muggle suit he was wearing spoke of a changed attitude and professional purpose. The alertness in his eyes suggested a busy life with little time to spare. The sharp toned outlines of his body spoke of physical fitness and a commitment to health. Things had definitely changed. Against all odds, Malfoy had turned out alright.

More than alright, if he was being honest...

And that’s when Harry’s brain caught up with this new situation and promptly rebelled under duress.

Malfoy. It was _Malfoy._

Bloody hell, what were the odds? What was Malfoy doing in America? Where had he been? Where had he come from? Harry’s head swam under the onslaught of the questions, with not a single answer in sight. He hated not having answers.

Somehow, Malfoy was still unaware of his presence. He was standing in front of a window and looking out into the street— much like Harry had a few seconds ago. Something must have caught his attention because he leaned forward, bracing his hands against the ledge. His eyes sparked with keen interest and his mouth pulled in that smirk Harry remembered so well from Hogwarts. In fact, it was so reminiscent of his school days that Harry found himself reflexively reaching for his wand.

And then...Malfoy laughed.

The familiar smirk widened to an amused grin. Harry abandoned all thoughts of his wand and stared in disbelief. He couldn’t recall ever having seen Malfoy smile before. Smirk, snigger and sneer, definitely. But smile? Never. Nor could he recall if Malfoy’s eyes had always gone from grey to silver when the sun hit them just right. Or how he...

Once again, his ridiculous train of thought caught up with him. Harry had to suppress the urge to hex himself. Why Malfoy’s eyes warranted any thought at all was something he would explore in great and painstaking detail later. _Alone._ Preferably in a Malfoy free zone. At the moment, however...

“Absolutely oblivious,” Malfoy murmured to himself. He chuckled and shook his head, turning away from the window. And then he turned around, and came face to face with Harry.

Fan-bloody-tastic.

Malfoy halted in his tracks, clearly caught off guard. Those silver eyes (grey, Harry reminded himself firmly, they were _grey_ ) widened in utter shock. Honestly, Harry would have been insulted if he didn’t share the sentiment so thoroughly.

“Potter?”

Well. This was awkward.

 

* * *

 

 

Oh, this was so _very_ awkward.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted uneasily.

Thankfully, Malfoy recovered first. “Um... hi,” he attempted, holding his hand out. Harry stared down at the proffered hand with trepidation, before finally reaching out and grasping Malfoy’s slim fingers in his own. Were men supposed to have such slender hands? Was it just Malfoy? More importantly, why was his brain punishing him with these random enquiries?

“Hi,” Harry blurted, belatedly remembering Malfoy’s greeting. He trailed off uncomfortably, not really sure how to follow that up. How exactly does one reacquaint with a former school rival? What was he supposed to say? _It’s nice to know you’re not dead? Remember when we spent all our time making each other miserable, that was fun right? Sorry about almost skewering you to death that one time, I was going through a phase?_

Oh dear god, why?!

Malfoy seemed to be going through the same thought process because he let go abruptly. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here,” he offered unnecessarily. It would have passed as small talk if Malfoy hadn’t been holding himself so stiffly. He looked like a Petrificus victim. Those easy, careless mannerisms Harry had seen just a minute ago were gone.

“Likewise,” Harry agreed, and wasn’t that an understatement. He cleared his throat and scrubbed an awkward hand through his hair, inexplicably annoyed at the nervous gesture. He hadn’t done that since Fourth Year, since the Yule Ball disaster with Cho. Why would Malfoy inspire that same nervous tic? Malfoy wasn’t Cho. Malfoy wasn’t anything! Just an old...something Harry had unexpectedly run into.

Right. Of course.

“So what brings you to the States?” he asked politely, resigning himself to making small talk. It was only polite.

“Business,” Malfoy answered. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “And yourself?”

Harry was rather pleased to note he wasn’t the only one with a nervous tic. Maybe Malfoy would skip out first and spare him the awkwardness of having to make an excuse. “Same,” he replied. “Small world.”

“A little too small,” Malfoy drawled. The smirk made a reappearance, sending a frizzle of...something down Harry’s spine. His eyes narrowed a fraction. Even with the new and improved personality, this was clearly still Malfoy. Malfoy, who apparently still possessed a talent for irritating him simply by existing.

It was nice to know some things never changed.

And with that happy thought Harry decided to bow out. He stepped back and pulled out his room key. “Well, this was interesting. But I should get back to...”

“Of course,” Malfoy added quickly, looking almost insultingly relieved. He retrieved his own key as he spoke. “Me too.”

“So, I guess I’ll see you around or...”

“Perhaps. Goodbye then...”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as Malfoy retreated, no doubt planning to take his leave. Seeing no point in prolonging the awkwardness, Harry left him behind and slipped off, taking a couple steps down the hall before finally pausing at Room 934. _There we go,_ he thought as he fumbled with the key. He should probably still take that shower while he had time. Once the Warbecks arrived it was going to be nothing but work and...

“What are you doing?”

Harry turned around again, only to see Malfoy standing there right behind him. Still? And he was frowning too, seemingly annoyed by Harry’s continuing presence. _That_ was an expression Harry was a lot more familiar with. Something inside him bristled at the sight, irritation rearing in the instinctive anticipation of an argument.

 _Why_ was Malfoy still here?

“I’m going to my room,” he replied evenly. Honestly, what sort of question was that? Surely, Malfoy was familiar with the concept.

Malfoy’s lips parted, as if he planned to refute that. Then his eyes skittered to the key in Harry’s hand and his frown deepened. “There must be some mistake,” he said finally.

Wait, what?

“This is my room,” Malfoy explained. He held his own key out and sure enough ‘934’ stared back at Harry in bold red print. Before Harry could react to this new development, Malfoy slipped his key through the slot. Harry stared as the door opened with a quiet click.

What the...?

“But...” He trailed off and shook his head, completely confused. He’d been assured that Room 934 had been booked for him for over a week. He had double checked it himself and he was sure there was no mistake. But then why on earth did Malfoy have a key?

“Why would they assign us the same room?” he demanded finally.

“I’m not sure,” Malfoy replied, looking just as puzzled. “Double booking, perhaps? It’s odd, though. My client booked this room a week ago.”

None of this was making any sense. “So did mine,” Harry replied. What was going on here? “Maybe we should talk to the front desk or...why are you looking at me like that?”

Malfoy’s expression was changing as he spoke, and Harry decided there and then that he didn’t like it one bit. That pale face reflected a mix of confusion and bewilderment before suddenly shifting to dawning comprehension. It looked ominous and Not Good and it was honestly just astounding how he’d never realised Malfoy had such an array of facial expressions at his disposal.

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice however, was flat and frighteningly calm. “Who is your client, exactly?”

Harry frowned and his shoulders went back in immediate defence. “That’s confidential. I can’t...”

“It wouldn’t happen to be Vivian Warbeck and her daughter, would it?”

And that’s when Harry’s jaw finally dropped. “How did you...”

“Unbelievable,” Malfoy sneered. He turned his back on Harry, opened the door with a lot more force than necessary and stormed into the room. The door promptly slammed shut in Harry’s face, leaving him blinking in the sudden silence.

Okay then...

It took a while for him to get his bearings. For a minute, all he could do was stand there, listening to Malfoy growl and pace the room. Nevertheless, he finally opened the door and walked in to face the problem head on. Malfoy was clearly in a state. He favoured Harry with another sneer before going back to pacing, covering the room in long, angry strides.

“Something you want to share with the class?” Harry asked dryly. “What’s got you in such a state?”

“You,” Malfoy snapped, turning on him. It just _had_ to be you! Well, forget it! I’d rather partner with Donald Noye!”

“What are you talking about?” Harry snapped. “What partner?” Harry snapped. “I don’t have a...”

_Ring._

Harry jumped and Malfoy whirled around as the phone rang loudly and incessantly. Benign and non-threatening though it was, but Harry noticed how Malfoy reacted. His body tensed and he shifted in immediate response, his fingers already reaching for his wand. There was no question about it. Malfoy really was a bodyguard. Just like him. Harry suppressed a groan of abject misery.

“Phone,” he mumbled out loud.

“I know,” Malfoy snapped, striding over to the offending device. Harry scowled at his back but Malfoy was already manhandling the device to his ear. “What?” he barked. A faint voice emanated from the other end. Malfoy listened for a few more seconds and slammed the receiver down before turning to Harry again.

“We’re expected at the restaurant in two and a half minutes,” he bit out stiffly. “ _Our_ client just arrived.”

Harry sneered and left without another word, pointedly ignoring the sensation of angry, grey eyes boring a hole in his back.

 

* * *

 

 

The introductions were stiff and the tension practically rolled off the table in waves. It was now exactly thirty minutes since that fateful meeting with Malfoy and none of this was getting any better as far as Harry was concerned. The restaurant was elegant, clearly designed to cater to the very best of the best. And after just five minutes in his client’s company, Harry knew without a doubt that Vivian Warbeck practically defined that type. Classically beautiful and perfectly put together, she was the very definition of elegance in her pale blue sundress and high heels. By all accounts, Harry was in the company of a gorgeous woman and in a lovely setting. As far as jobs go, he couldn’t have asked for a better deal.

And yet it all seemed in complete contrast with his rapidly darkening mood. Why? Because Malfoy was sitting right across from him on Vivian’s left, apparently without a care in the world. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he took in the man’s relaxed posture, the ease with which he blended into these elite surroundings, how effortlessly he kept up with Vivian’s small talk. He was just so at _home_ here, with his sharp suit and refined bearing. Hell, he could have been Vivian’s date, let alone her bodyguard. And then there was Harry— sitting stiffly and watching them warily as he debated which fork to use. Nobody would ever mistake Harry for someone who fit in here. Harry had never belonged in places like this.

Still, every now and then Malfoy’s gaze flitted to him. Relaxed though he may be, but there was no mistaking the Erumpent in the room. Malfoy mouth was tight and strained, his fingers twitched restlessly every time he met Harry’s relentless stare. Still, he said nothing. He was obviously biding his time and waiting for the right moment.

Harry however, had had enough of waiting. If he didn’t say something, he would explode. “I’m sorry,” he spoke up suddenly, interrupting Vivian’s commentary on the weather. “But I was informed I would be working alone.”

That did it. The façade of pleasantry shattered with his statement and two distinct gazes zeroed in on him— dark and disinterested versus grey and instantly defensive.

“And it begins,” Malfoy drawled, setting his glass down.

Vivian arched an eyebrow at him. “Problem?”

Harry scowled and opened his mouth to reply but Malfoy beat him to it. “I think what Potter is so subtly trying to imply is that he doesn’t want to work with me,” he drawled. He met Harry’s gaze pointedly. “Is that right?”

“Partly,” Harry acquiesced. “It’s just...I have a policy. I do my best work alone, that’s all. It’s not personal. Well, not _entirely_ personal,” he amended, levelling a cool smile in Malfoy’s direction.

“I see,” Vivian replied. She turned to Malfoy. “And you feel the same way?”

“I’m a professional,” Malfoy stated evenly. “I’ll make do with what I have. But in my experience, this isn’t the best idea. Potter and I have a...well, let’s say history.”

Clearly, Malfoy was competing for Understatement of the Year. Not that Harry could fault his logic. “Exactly,” he agreed. “So it’s probably for the best if one of us stepped out. It’s just bad for business.”

“Brilliant,” Malfoy drawled. “Shall I get housekeeping to assist with your packing?”

Harry stiffened. “Who said I was going to leave?” he demanded defensively.

“You did,” Malfoy belted back, leaning forward with just a touch of aggression. “I was under the impression this goes against your professional principles or some such rot. Therefore you should be the one to go, don’t you think?”

Seriously? And who used ‘therefore’ in an actual conversation? Harry’s fists clenched against the table and he leaned in as well, responding to Malfoy’s challenge. “And I suppose working with me doesn’t conflict with _your_ principles at all?”

Malfoy smirked. “I’m a Slytherin, Potter. I don’t put much stock in principles. But I do get the job done— every single time.”

“I know the type,” Vivian put in. Harry’s attention snapped back to her. For a second, he was chagrined at having almost lost control in front of a client but she was regarding them with something akin to amusement. In fact, she almost broke composure and smiled when she turned to Malfoy. “I can see why Eddie was so eager to have you on board. You are most definitely be staying on.”

Harry sneered and made to stand up but then those dark, intense eyes met his. “And so are you,” she informed him. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Potter, but I was told you were a consummate professional. And you,” she added, smirking at Malfoy, “need the money badly.”

Malfoy scowled. Evidently, this was no longer going the way he’d hoped. He opened his mouth to argue but she talked over him. She was good at that, Harry noticed. “So, the way I see it, you two will put this contention aside and focus on the job. Why? Because I’m paying you and I say so. Are we clear here?”

The silence crackled around them. Harry glared at Malfoy, Malfoy scowled at Harry and Vivian rolled her eyes at both of them. “I _said_ are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Malfoy muttered. Nevertheless, his eyes remained trained on Harry, glinting with challenge. So much for all that polite small talk earlier— he was all geared up for a fight. Harry wasn’t particularly pleased either. How was this supposed to work? Having a partner made him antsy enough, but expecting him to work with Malfoy? Talk about a disaster in the making.

Gods, he was going to kill Neville when he got home.

“Fine,” he replied finally. The only indication of Malfoy’s surprise was an arched brow which Harry pointedly ignored. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy get to him. Work was work and he was a professional. Harry would handle him just like any other unpleasant associate— by ignoring him totally and completely. End of story.

“Wonderful,” Vivian purred. “Then let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? Mr Potter, you’re with me twenty four seven. Rehearsals, autograph sessions...the whole deal. Mr Malfoy, you’ll be guarding my daughter when she’s off on her own. She is priority, nothing else takes precedence. If it puts you at ease at all, you won’t really be working ‘together’ _per se_ but if and when you do, I expect Potter to lead and for you to follow. There will be no negotiations on that.”

For a split second, her eyes darted to the dark outline slashed across Malfoy’s wrist. If Harry hadn’t been looking right at her, he would have missed it. He didn’t though, and the insinuation was clear: Malfoy would be tolerated and trusted for now but there were certain things from his past nobody was going to overlook. Suddenly, Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. He looked away, pretending not to notice Malfoy’s darkening gaze or the way he subtly shifted his arm out of sight.

“Understood,” he said stiffly. “Potter is in charge, I won’t forget.”

“Excellent,” Vivian replied briskly. “And of course, I’ll be introducing you to Paris. She should be here soon. I must warn you, though. She can be a...bit of a handful. I’d be on my guard if I were you.”

Malfoy’s lips twitched. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

Vivian sighed. “You say that now but…”

“Okay, I’m here.”

The new voice broke into the conversation. Harry turned and saw a young girl approach their table, poking distractedly at her mobile phone. “And just what was _so_ important that I had to cancel a massage appointment? Gods, it’s like you’re trying to ruin my life.” She kept up a steady spiel of complaints as she sauntered over and perched in a seat across from Vivian. Harry took a moment to assess her. Sixteen probably, curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a mouth turned down in a sulky pout. Yes, this was definitely…

“Gentlemen,” Vivian spoke heavily, sounding very much like she was suppressing a sigh of exasperation. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Paris. Paris, this is…”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Paris groaned. “You called me out here to meet security? You said it was important!”

Harry bristled at the child’s behaviour and he was more than a little gratified to note Vivian shooting her a quelling glare. Malfoy however, just looked amused. Harry scowled at him too, just to balance things out. There was no need to encourage their rude little guest.

“Behave,” Vivian ordered her daughter. “And Merlin help me, _what_ are you wearing?”

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Paris asked innocently. She leaned over, letting the flimsy blouse slip off her shoulders, revealing a rather daring bikini. Vivian hissed under her breath and Harry promptly busied himself with his salad. Paris just grinned brightly, apparently delighting in their discomfort. “Lawrence bought it for me,” she chirped smugly. “You know, for my _birthday_. The one you missed?”

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “Lawrence?” she hissed. “I thought we discussed this, Paris.”

“No, _you_ discussed it. I ignored you. My boyfriend’s none of your business anyway.”

Vivian slammed her fist on the table, rattling the cutlery ominously. Clearly, this was heading for a spectacular family argument. “Now you listen up, young lady…”

Suddenly, Malfoy took charge and cleared his throat meaningfully. Both mother and daughter turned to glare at him. Harry was rather surprised to note how similar those glares were. Practically identical. So that’s where the family resemblance was. There wasn’t much else, though. In fact, looking at them side by side, Harry couldn’t even tell that they were mother and daughter. Vivian was all class and beauty, and Paris was well, not. Pretty, yes. But her outfit was risqué and over the top. And was that a dragon tattoo on her left…

Harry flushed and averted his gaze at once. He really wasn’t getting paid enough for this...

“Miss Warbeck.” Malfoy was speaking directly to Paris now. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Of course it is,” Paris drawled, looking him up and down. “So you’re my new warden, huh?”

Malfoy smirked. “I suppose that’s up to you.”

Paris regarded him thoughtfully for a few seconds. “We’ll see,” she informed him haughtily. And then those blue eyes were looking straight at Harry, scrutinising and intent. The girl cocked her head and Harry straightened himself subconsciously. He had never been particularly good at face offs. And he really wasn’t sure how to feel about being a teenage girl’s centre of attention.

“I read about you in class,” Paris announced. “You’re bloody young for someone who made it into a history book.”

“Paris!” Vivian snapped.

“It’s fine,” Harry placated. He had heard worse. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Warbeck.”

“So everyone keeps saying,” Paris agreed succinctly. With that, she dismissed them, got up and dusted her hands off. “Well, this was fun and everything but I have things to do. So I’ll just…”

“Sit down,” Vivian bit out angrily. “We need to talk about your plans for our stay. Your music classes are very important and…”

“Yeah, how about no,” Paris drawled. She tossed her hair back, smirking at her mother’s livid expression. “Let’s do this the usual way. You tell me what you think is best for me, and I’ll ignore you.”

“Paris, so help me Merlin…”

“I’m heading for the pool. Bye, Mum. Later, Warden.”

And just like that, she was gone. Harry stared at her retreating back disapprovingly and Vivian shook her head. “And that gentlemen, was Paris.”

“She’s…” Harry struggled for the appropriate word. Somehow, he didn’t think the phrase ‘little she-devil’ would be well received.

“Delightful,” Malfoy supplied. He didn’t seem to be playing at sarcasm either. He looked genuinely amused. “Very spirited,” he added, smiling at Vivian. “Gets it from you, I’ll wager.”

Vivian cracked a small smile. “I think she likes you. She doesn’t give out nicknames to just anyone.”

Malfoy chuckled at that, and Harry decided that was enough weirdness for one day. “If that’s all…” he began.

“Of course,” Vivian said, waving them off. “You can head back to your room. We have a big day tomorrow, gentlemen. I suggest you get all the rest you can.”

And that’s when Harry realised something else he had missed. He was sharing a room with Malfoy.

Just bloody perfect.

Oh, he was _so_ going to kill Neville when he got home.

 

* * *

 

                                                                                                                                                     

“I’m going to kill you when I get home.” Draco paced the hallway as he hissed into the mobile phone. Thank Merlin his instructors in Singapore had seen fit to instruct him on Muggle technology. At least he didn’t have to find a conveniently located fireplace just to chew Blaise out.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Blaise repeated for the fifth time in ten minutes. “You can’t seriously think I knew Potter would get assigned on your case. The man is a security consultant. He handles heists, mass curses—that sort of thing. This is a serious step down for him…”

“Yes, thank you. Feeling much better now,” Draco snapped. “Oh, don’t let me stop you. Do go on about how bloody fantastic Potter is and how he doesn’t deserve to waste away with the likes of us mere mortals.”

“Stop acting like a child,” Blaise chided. “So, he’s there. What do you care? Just do your job like you’re supposed to.”

“Of course I care!” Draco hissed. “It’s Potter! I’m supposed to work with him. No. Not _with_ him, _for_ him. I’m reporting to that prat, do you understand what that’s like? I mean, for fuck’s sake! I skip the country. I train for years in Merlin-knows-which corners of the world. I sweat and I toil and I shattered my kneecap once, I’ll have you know. And for what? To end up second to Potter. Again! Why the hell should I...”

“Now you listen to me, and you listen good,” Blaise broke in. He was using his ‘stern voice’ now. The kind that demanded immediate attention to what he was about to say because damn it, it was important. Draco scowled but subsided. He knew better than to mess with The Voice.

“You’re pissed,” Blaise went on. “I get that. I would be too. But here’s the thing. You need this job and you damn well need it more than Potter does. It sucks, but those are the breaks. Now I can pull you out of there but I think we both know where that leaves you. Do you want to go back to book signings?”

“No,” Draco muttered sulkily. “I like it here. They have room service.”

“Fantastic. So, man up and babysit the spoilt brat. And look after Vivian Warbeck and her daughter too.”

Despite his dark mood, Draco chuckled at that. Blaise always knew what to say. “Tosser,” he accused fondly. “I’ll hang in there.”

“Look after yourself. Stay out of trouble. And relax, will you? It’s just one month and then you’ll never see Potter again.”

Draco sighed and signed off. Blaise made a good point. He couldn’t afford to obsess over Potter when there was a job to do. The mature, professional thing to do would be to put his personal biases aside and learn work with the man.

But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? He had never been particularly mature where Potter was concerned. There was just… something about the man. All day long, he had endured Potter staring at him. Sizing him up, evaluating him, _judging_ him with that stern, self righteous expression and that holier-than-thou attitude. Ever since that damn meeting in the hallway, Draco had been subject to frowns and disapproving glances. It shouldn’t have bothered him, because who cared what Potter thought? And yet, it...rankled. It irked him, that after all these years, after all his hard work, he should be found lacking. So lacking in fact, that he was only good enough to stand at the sidelines while Potter led the charge and reaped all the glory.

Business as usual. Potter: one billion and then some. Draco: zero.

Draco’s shoulders slumped as he trudged back to his room. _One month,_ he told himself firmly. He could handle being in Potter’s shadow for a month.

Well, he could try at least.

 

* * *

 

 

Back in the room, Harry was engaged in a similar standoff with the fireplace.

“You did it on purpose!” he raged. “Don’t even bother denying it!”

Neville’s expression flickered in the flames, somehow managing to look simultaneously abashed and amused. “In my defence, I had no idea it was going to be Malfoy.”

“You’re not even denying it!”

“You just told me…” Neville gave up and attempted another line of reasoning. “Look, can we forget about Malfoy for a second? Tell me about your situation. How’s the client?”

“Fine,” Harry groused. “The mother’s alright. Kind of tense, I guess. The daughter’s a little horror, though. She’s going to be a problem.”

“Not your problem though, right?” Neville pressed.

“No. Malfoy got roped in for babysitting. It’s just...the whole thing is weird, you know?”

“How so?”

Harry frowned, mentally cataloguing the events of the day. “I don’t know yet. Everything is really tense. At first I figured it’s because the mother and daughter don’t really get along. But it’s more than that, I can feel it. Why are they going through all this trouble for security? Most celebrities don’t even care who’s guarding them so long as they stay out of the way and do the job. This is...it’s different here. I keep feeling like there’s something Vivian Warbeck isn’t telling us.”

“Everyone has their secrets,” Neville reasoned. “I wouldn’t bother with it. Just do your job and the rest will work out, yeah?”

“I’m trying!” Harry snapped. “Of course, if _someone_ had mentioned I’d have to handle a high strung singer, her teenage daughter _and_ Malfoy, maybe I would have been more prepared…”

“For the last time, will you stop fixating on Malfoy? Who cares about Malfoy? You’re in charge, aren’t you? Just stick him in a corner and use him for back-up.”

“I don’t _want_ to be in charge!” Harry argued belligerently. “This is exactly why I work alone, Neville. So I won’t have to be ‘in charge’ of anyone but my clients! And it’s Malfoy, for Godric’s sake! Don’t you…”

“Okay, move over,” a familiar voice from Neville’s end broke in suddenly. “Let me talk to him.”

“What?” Neville blurted. “Ginny, I’ll handle…”

Despite his protests, Neville was promptly shoved aside. Harry pursed his lips and fought for a neutral expression as his ex-girlfriend’s pretty features flared up in the fireplace.

“Hi, Harry,” Ginny greeted pleasantly.

“Hey, Gin.”

“So, here’s the thing,” she declared, foregoing polite small talk in favour of getting right to the point. “Leave Neville alone.”

Harry bristled indignantly. “Excuse me?”

“He’s not your caretaker, your babysitter or your boss,” Ginny informed him. “If you don’t like the job he worked so hard to get you, then pack your bags and go home. But don’t chew him out just because you don’t like your situation.”

“But it’s…”

“Malfoy. I heard. Guess what? It’s your problem. You don’t want him around? Your problem. You don’t want anyone around? Still your problem. We’ve had this conversation before and frankly, I’m tired of it.”

She met his scowl head on. She had always been good at that, Harry mused. Calling him out on his nonsense. It was one of the things he’d liked most about her. Things hadn’t been perfect with Ginny, but they had always been honest. Unfortunately, that was also what had driven them apart in the end. When it had all gone pear shaped, she had refused to lie to herself, to pretend things were alright. Instead, she’d cut her losses and moved on because she just didn’t think she could fix him anymore. Even in breaking his heart, she had been honest. It had been for the best, of course. But it still hurt and Harry wasn’t sure he would ever forgive her for leaving him in the dust like that.

“Sorry,” he replied coldly. “I won’t bother you or Neville anymore. Merlin knows I’ve done it enough.”

Ginny’s expression softened a bit. “We’re trying to be your friends, Harry. We’ve been trying for seven years. But you have to meet us halfway. Pushing everyone away is not going to help. I know that raid messed you up, but you’re _not_ going to hurt anyone else. If you just put a little bit of trust in…”

“I have to go,” Harry cut her off curtly. This was absolutely not what he wanted to hear. Why was everyone so bent on psychoanalysing him anyway? He was just fine, thank you very much.

Ginny shook her head, sighing in exasperation. “Of course you do. Take care of yourself, yeah? And come see us when you get back. We miss you. All of us.”

Harry signed off and the flames petered out. Soon enough, he was alone again.

“Good,” he muttered, brushing his jeans off. Alone was good. Of course it was. Ginny didn’t know what she was talking about. He was just fine. He was perfectly, one hundred percent…

The door opened with a click and Malfoy slipped in. Harry stiffened in anticipation of a row but Malfoy seemed to be in no mood. He looked rather worn out. He just imparted a semi-sneer in Harry’s direction before heading for one of the twin beds.

“Lights out in ten,” he announced, before flopping down in his covers.

Harry rolled his eyes and perched on the edge of his own bed. There wasn’t much he wanted to say to Malfoy at the moment, but they might as well clear the air if they were going to work together. “Look,” he began. “I just want you to know that the whole ‘me being in charge’ thing wasn’t my doing. Believe me, I’m not a fan of the way things worked out either.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Malfoy drawled. “I was so worried about how you’re dealing with being the Superstar of Celebrity Security. I’m sure I’ll rest easy now.”

Why had he expected reasoning to work? Harry glowered in frustration, partly at his own situation and partly at Malfoy’s brattish behaviour. “Fine,” he bit out. “Let’s just do our jobs then. Try not to get in my way.”

“Good night, _Boss_.”

The lights went out abruptly, plunging the room in sudden darkness. Harry grumbled under his breath as he slipped under his own covers. Like it or not, tomorrow would be here soon.

And he had no idea what it was going to bring.

 

* * *

**The next morning:**

 

Come morning, Draco was still tense and out of sorts. His restlessness had carried over from the night before, and when he woke up at the crack of dawn, Potter was still asleep, snoring up a storm in his bed. Prat. Draco sneered, pulled on a pair of loose track pants and headed for the gym.

After a few laps in the pool and three sets from his Thang Ta workout, he was feeling a tiny bit better. Of course, that’s when a harried pool boy informed him that Queen Vivian had demanded an audience.

_And here we go._

Somehow, Potter made it to the Presidential Suite before Draco got there. He was at Vivian’s side— stiff and stern faced in his official black suit. Draco suppressed an instinctive eye roll and brushed past him. Potter didn’t so much as spare a glance. He just looked straight ahead, his expression hard and focused. Vivian on the other hand, had tons to say to him.

“This is Paris’s itinerary for the day,” she announced with preamble, Summoning a thick purple binder and passing it to him. Draco raised an eyebrow as he flipped it open. Good grief, this was for a _day?_ And on that note, who went and planned their kid’s entire day for them? Draco flipped through the folder, trying not to let his distaste show.

“So just for my understanding, she’s only allowed a lunch break _after_ her music lessons?” he asked dryly. Talk about harsh. Not to mention, insane _._ There was no way the kid would follow through with this.

Vivian arched an eyebrow, apparently not appreciating his tone. “Children respond best to stability,” she informed him haughtily. “A schedule will keep her on track. We’re in Manhattan for the next seven days and I expect her to spend at least half her time practicing her singing. The other half of course, will be putting in appearances at my performances and making the right contacts.”

Draco could feel his eyebrow tic returning with a vengeance. This was awful— and oddly reminiscent of his own childhood. Of course, Lucius had never resorted to sparkly, purple binders, but he had still ruled Draco’s life with an iron fist. Etiquette classes, finance lessons, music sessions, visits to museums and places of intellectual interest— that was just a taste of growing up at Manor. Fun and leisure always come second. Recreation was for roustabouts and vandals. A proper heir knows how to behave and what is expected of them. Always be perfect. Never be lacking. Never lose control.

 _Grade A parenting right there_ , Draco thought bitterly. _And look how it all turned out, Father._

But it wasn’t his place to tell Vivian that. “Understood,” he replied instead. What else could he say?

Vivian nodded and waved him off. “She should be downstairs in the lobby,” she told him. “If you need to reach me at all, I’ll be at the Celestina Warbeck Concert Hall downtown with Potter here, rehearsing for tomorrow’s performance. Oh, and only call if it’s _really_ important, yes?”

 _In other words, don’t bother me with the kid’s antics. Handle them yourself._ Draco suppressed a weary sigh and took his leave; resolutely ignoring Potter’s half sympathetic expression on his way out.

Sure enough, Paris was perched on a plush sofa in the hotel lobby. She made quite a sight, dressed in short shorts and a tank top, chewing gum and swinging her long legs carelessly. The girl at the front desk shot her a dirty look before huffing and going back to her papers. Draco rolled his eyes and approached the teenager.

“Ready?”

Paris abandoned her phone and glanced up at him. “Morning, Warden,” she chirped. Her blue eyes drifted to the binder in his grasp and she rolled her eyes. “I see you’ve already spoken to Mum.”

Draco cocked his head. “Just how hard do you plan to make this for me?”

Paris smirked. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

 

* * *

**A few hours later:**

 

The kid was testing him, he was sure of it. She was trying to run him ragged, and quite frankly Draco thought she was doing a damn good job of it. Five minutes into their day, she had announced that she had no intention of attending her music classes. That was expected. What Draco hadn’t anticipated was that she would throw on a Glamour Charm— which she was in no way authorized to perform out of school— and head for one of those big, Muggle shopping centres.

“So what do you think of the mall, Warden?” Paris asked as she skipped alongside him.

Draco eyed the teaming masses with consternation. The place was huge— a massive display of shops and cafes and more shops. Escalators weaved their way up different levels, oddly reminiscent of Hogswart’s flying staircases. He wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with this sort of environment. He had visited a few ‘malls’ in Singapore when undercover practice called for it but that didn’t mean he liked the concept. Muggles and their consumerism. Draco scoffed. Diagon Alley with its neat rows and select arcades was far more appealing to his pureblood sensibilities.

“It’s wonderful,” he replied dryly. “Just a heads up? If you think your little shopping spree is going to wear me down, you’re going to be very disappointed.” He had grown up with the likes of Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, after all. This little chit had nothing on them.

Paris’s smug grin disappeared in favour of a glare. “We’ll see,” she challenged belligerently. “Try to keep up.”

And Draco did. For three whole hours, while Paris bought several shops out of clothes and shoes, reduced two salesgirls to tears, had Draco lug her bags around while she indulged in frozen yoghurt...and then she decided to repeat the entire process again. Twice.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have challenged a teenage girl to shop until _he_ dropped after all. By the time she was done, Draco was seriously considering offering up a prayer or two for divine intervention. Fortunately, the powers that be were on his side for once.

“Okay, we’re done here,” Paris declared, tossing her half eaten yoghurt away.

Draco feigned shock at her announcement. “Surely there’s another scarf you want to buy? A bracelet? Croatia?”

“Oh ha-ha, the old man made a joke,” Paris retorted, shoving the last of her bags at him and making for the exit. “Look alive, Warden. We’re heading for 79th Street.”

“The Wizarding district?” Draco arched an eyebrow as he followed her briskly. “And what do you plan to buy there?”

Paris grinned impishly. “We’re not going there to shop.”

79th Street was easy enough to find. Paris knew her way around the city and when she faltered Draco used a Location Spell to guide them. The familiar hum of magic deepened as they approached the little by-lane. Not unlike the rest of New York, there was no magical barrier separating the street from the Muggle world. Everything was out in the open— apothecaries, broomstick shops and wand emporiums selling their wares, uncaring of judgement or secrecy. It was just another odd neighbourhood in the Big Apple.

“Finally,” Paris sighed in relief. She waved her wand and took off the Glamour, reverting from a brown eyed brunette to her old, blue eyed blonde self. Draco winced instinctively but nothing happened. No Auror squads swooping from the sky, yelling about the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery.

“Gods, I love New York,” Paris declared happily as she skipped off. “Nobody gives a damn.”

There was a certain appeal in that, Draco thought. That being said, his charge was clearly here with a purpose. She was marching down the street now, ignoring all the shops and heading straight for a rundown little pub. Draco frowned and hurried to catch up, giving the seedy dive a quick once-over. The sign said ‘Jerry’s’— or it would have if the ‘J’ hadn’t been missing. Draco made a face. Why on earth would she want to go in that dive? He had a hunch it was nothing good.

“So,” Paris spoke up suddenly, turning to him with a too bright smile. “This is where we say goodbye, Warden. I’ll find my way home. Feel free to take my bags back to the hotel, though.”

“Or,” Draco retorted blandly. “I could just you know, _not_ get sacked for losing you in the city on my first day.”

Paris huffed in irritation. “You won’t get sacked. I lose my bodyguards all the time. Mum knows the drill. Just...go away.”

Draco crossed his arms and met her scowl head-on. He was so not losing a stand-off to this brat. “Well, I don’t lose my clients. So I guess we’re at an impasse.”

That did not sit well with Paris at all. She stamped her foot and planted her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you _sick_ of tailing me already? I skipped class, I made you run circles in the mall, you hauled my bags around all day…”

“You did everything you could to get rid of me. Nice try, kid. Ten points for effort.” Draco smirked as her eyes flashed with anger. “But guess what? I’m still here.”

“Jerk,” Paris spat petulantly.

Draco clutched at his chest, a touch theatrically. “Sticks and stones. Now, let’s level. The way I see it, you’re already in trouble. Your mum’s going to find out you skipped class. In fact, I’ll be very surprised if she doesn’t already know. But you knew that. You don’t care about that. What you _do_ care about is whatever you planning to do now. You don’t want her to find out about that, do you? That’s why you’ve been trying to cut me loose all day.”

He had a point and she knew it. She also didn’t like it. The kid lifted her chin defiantly and glared at him, evidently refusing to go down without a fight. Unfortunately for her, Draco had a lot of experience with silent face-offs, what with growing up with Lucius and all. He waited her out for a few minutes and sure enough, her expression crumpled and her shoulders sagged in defeat. “You can’t tell her,” she mumbled quietly.

Draco said nothing, refusing to commit himself. Nevertheless, he gestured for her to continue.

“My boyfriend’s meeting me here,” Paris explained sullenly. “He’s a guitarist for this Weird Sisters cover band and he’s really good, okay? But he’s on tour a lot and we haven’t seen each other in a while and...I just want to see Lawrence for a bit. And Mum...”

“She doesn’t approve,” Draco surmised. He had already gleaned as much from Vivian’s reaction yesterday.

Paris scowled at him, the picture of sullen accusation. “I suppose you’re going to take me back now and report to her like a good little bodyguard then.”

Draco scrubbed a weary hand through his hair, trying to tamp down the sudden surge of frustration threatening to overwhelm him. So this was what his life had come to— standing in the way of teenage romance. This had to be a new low. All of a sudden, he was angry. Angry with Blaise for taking this assignment, angry with Vivian for expecting him to do her parenting for her, angry with Potter for just being _there_. But most of all, he was angry with _himself_ and his crap decisions that had ended him in this situation in the first place. He could have been an Auror. He _should_ have been an Auror but no, he just had to go and make bad life choices and now, this was where he’d ended up.

No. No, _this_ was too much. He may be a lowly bodyguard, but that didn’t justify turning him into a babysitter. This was _not_ in his job description and enough was bloody well enough.

So, Draco took a deep breath, willed his self control back and turned to his sulking charge. “Alright Princess, cards on the table,” he commenced sternly. “The way I see it, you’re practically of age. Sixteen is as good as seventeen in my book. And you might have missed the memo but I’m not filling in for your father. It’s not my job to tell you how to live your life. As long as you’re aware of the consequences of your decisions and you’re not actively getting hurt, we’re good. But it _is_ my job is to keep you safe from physical harm. I’m not going to run to your mother and tattle on you but I am going to follow you around like a shadow and keep you safe. You don’t have to like it but if it helps at all, I’m not having that great a time myself. So, can you live with that?”

She stared at him in silence. Draco shifted uneasily, half wondering if he’d gone too far. Paris gave nothing away. She just stood there, assessing him carefully. “So you’re not...going to tell me what to do?” she asked finally. “You’re not going to tell Mum if I don’t follow her stupid schedule?”

Draco sighed and shrugged. “Like I said, you’re practically a grown up. It’s your life. You know what you need the better than anyone else.” Besides, schedules were crap anyway. This kid didn’t need a time table. She needed to take some damn responsibility. “It’s up to you,” Draco said added, gesturing to the bar’s entrance. “But like it or not, I’m right behind you.”

Paris nodded slowly, shifting uneasily from one foot to another. Clearly, she was unfamiliar with being trusted. Despite his irritation, Draco could empathise.

“Okay,” she replied finally. “I guess we have a deal then.” Then she lifted her chin and glared at him. “But don’t loom over us or crack your knuckles or anything, okay? That’s _so_ tacky.”

Draco smirked and followed as she flounced off. The pub was dimly lit and smelt faintly of cigarette smoke. Draco’s fingers twitched in response to the shadows and dark corners, but the only other person in the place was a sandy blond boy, lounging in a chair with his feet up on the table and twanging mournfully at his guitar. A fanged earring glinted on his left ear. Classy. Draco rolled his eyes when Paris practically whooped for joy.

“Lawrence!” she squealed, making a beeline for him.

“Babe!” the kid yelled back, leaping to his feet.

And then they were wrapped around each other, snogging like it was going out of style.

Draco shuddered and slumped down at the bar, making sure to keep one eye on his charge and another out for stray reporters. “The strongest you’ve got,” he told the bartender. He caught an eyeful of Paris wrapped around her boyfriend again and grimaced. “Better make it a double.”

The bloke gave him a sympathetic nod and went to fetch his drink. Draco just hoped Potter was as miserable as he was.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry just hoped Malfoy was as miserable as he was. He heaved a weary sigh and followed Vivian as she made yet another indignant round of the stage.

“And this lighting is terrible!” she railed at the harassed organisers. “Do you _want_ everyone in the audience to think I’m pushing thirty five? Because I’m not. I’ll have you know…”

“Just strike me down, for the love of Merlin,” Harry muttered.

“What was that?” Vivian questioned sharply.

“I’ll just...do another perimeter check,” Harry amended hastily. He hurried off before she could focus her ire on him. Understandably, things were stressful. The first performance of the tour was tomorrow night and the concert hall was a scene of chaos. Harried organisers, PAs and stage managers skittered around, casting spells, checking the lights, testing the Sonorus Charms and barking at each other to pick up the pace.

Harry had already done three perimeter checks in the last four hours and nothing seemed amiss. He had even done a fourth at Vivian’s insistence and now he was just bored. If anything untoward was about to happen, Harry couldn’t see it. Everyone and everything was accounted for to the last detail. The place checked out.

And it was quite a place. The Celestina Warbeck Concert Hall was located in the Wizarding district over on the Upper East Side. It didn’t get much swankier than that. The building was opulence itself— an impressive Italian marble edifice overlooking spacious lawns with lush, exotic blooms. The interiors hosted a grand staging area with very limited seating. It just screamed ‘black tie’ and ‘exclusive’ to Harry, clearly designed to say that you had to _be_ somebody to belong here.

The Warbecks of course, belonged here by default. The Hall’s tribute artwork featured several portraits of their namesake— the Singing Sorceress herself, all charmed to start singing the moment someone approached them. Harry had nearly jumped out of his skin when a deep, sultry voice crooning _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ piped up right next to his ear. Celestina’s portrait in the Main Hall had been particularly amused by his reaction. She had followed up her impromptu performance with _He’s a Keeper_ at which point, Harry had flushed and hurried off.

As he made his way down the hallway and back to Vivian, he found himself confronted with another portrait. Celestina smiled beatifically and beckoned from her frame. Brilliant. Another song. Harry sighed. Still, it would be rude to just walk away.

“Hello, Ma’am,” he greeted politely. Celestina’s smile widened and she crooked a finger at him. Reluctantly, he stepped forward. A second later, the painting began to sing.

 

_Shadows and smoke screens_

_Spells and tricks_

_What’s a nice boy like you_

_Doing in a place like this?_

 

She winked cheekily at him and Harry found himself flushing again. Evidently, he was being teased by a painting. 

“Just my job,” he replied curtly. “If you’ll excuse me, I should…”

 

_You better look out, boy._

_There’s more than meets the eye._

 

Wait, what?

Harry froze in his tracks. Celestina held his gaze meaningfully, her expression oddly intense. “What?” Harry whispered.

Celestina just smiled pleasantly, but there was...something about her. Her dark eyes were trained on him, intent and unnerving. So far, the portraits he’d seen limited themselves to happy, chirpy numbers. But this one... 

“What does that mean?” Harry asked. “Why did you say...er, sing that?”

 

_Shadows in the light, hiding in plain sight._

_I see it all, but I can’t make no call._

 

Harry swallowed. That was just weird. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she was...trying to tell him something. Was she? Was something going to happen? A trickle of uneasiness crept up his spine. “Is something wrong?” he asked finally. “Should I be...looking for something?”

 

_Just open your eyes, and look into the light._

 

That wasn’t an answer. Harry’s shoulders slumped as the tension bled out of his body. Of course she couldn’t answer him. She was a sodding painting. Taking cues from a painting, _honestly_. Harry sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He really was losing it. “Well, thanks for the song,” he managed lamely. “I’ll just go then.”

Still, he couldn’t quite escape the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Just to be sure, Harry did another perimeter check.

 

* * *

**The next morning:**

 

It turned out that Draco’s prediction from the previous day was spot on. Vivian called for him bright and early the next morning and Holy Salazar, was she on the war path. 

“You were supposed to take her to her singing lessons!” she hissed, poking an exquisitely manicured finger in his chest. “What were you _thinking_ letting her traipse about the city on her own?! Of all the reckless, irresponsible, dangerous...”

Draco took a deep breath and prayed for calm. Losing his temper would most certainly make this worse. “Mrs Warbeck…”

“Miss,” Vivian snapped. “I go by Miss Warbeck, alright?!”

“Right, sorry. The way I saw it, I had to make an executive decision. I could have reported to you but there was no way you could have responded in time. I chose to follow her and keep her safe. If I may say so, I did exactly that. She was perfectly safe and in my line of sight at all times.”

“But she was _supposed_ to be safe at her music lessons!” Vivian shrilled. “You should have taken her there whether she wanted to go or not, end of story!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I am neither qualified nor allowed to force a young girl to go where she doesn’t want to. With all due respect, that’s not my job.”

 _It’s yours,_ he added mentally.

Vivian took a deep, sharp breath at his tone. Oh, she was pissed now. Her mouth pressed in a thin, tight line and her eyes glinted. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. “Your job is what I _tell_ you to do. Is. That. Understood? You’re working for _me_ and we’re doing this my way!”

Draco’s fists clenched. He backed off before he could do or say anything that would get him sacked. “As you say,” he replied coolly. “If you need me, I’ll be in the gym.”

He turned on his heel to stalk out. Her next words however, stopped him in his tracks.

“I’m just trying to keep her safe.”

Draco turned around to face her. The rage from a few seconds ago had dissipated, giving way to a tense frown. Draco cocked his head, assessing the woman keenly. All he saw now was a worried mother. Not a diva. “I _have_ to keep her safe,” Vivian insisted quietly. She wrapped her slim arms around her body and turned away from him.

“Safe from what?” Draco asked.

Vivian laughed shakily. “Everything. Everyone.”

And with that odd declaration, she turned and walked away, effectively dismissing him. Draco stared after her, wondering what had just happened. As he left, he couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something here. Something was wrong...he could feel it in his bones.

But what?

 

* * *

 

 

Now that it was on his head, he couldn’t quite get it out. His mind raced as he made his way to the gym. There were some missing pieces here, that was for certain. Something Vivian wasn’t telling him. Or even Potter, for that matter. Perhaps it was time to engage in a little investigation? Blaise could dig something up for him. It was worth a shot. Of course, the smart thing to do would be to respect his client’s privacy and do his job, but he really did hate being kept in the dark…

He was so caught up in his musings that Draco didn’t even notice he had reached his destination until he knocked into a punching bag. He snapped back at once, registering the familiar sets of equipment all around him. Draco sighed in relief, rather gratified to note that the gym was empty.

That is, until he turned around.

“Good morning,” Potter greeted stiffly, setting down a set of weights and sitting up.

Draco bit back the urge to scream. Really? Couldn’t he catch a break, just this once?

“Morning, Boss,” he drawled instead. Potter’s mouth turned downwards at the moniker, but he said nothing. Draco smirked in petty vindication and headed for the bars. Some stretches would do him good. If Potter would just go back to his routine and leave him be, he could probably finish his workout in peace.

“I heard you had a little showdown with the client this morning.”

No such luck. Draco scoffed and flipped over on the bars, regarding a now upside down Potter through narrowed eyes. “Eavesdropping, Potter? For shame.”

Potter scowled. “Actually, I ran into your little friend in the hallway. Paris, that is. Evidently, she’s grounded until the concert tonight and she wanted me to tell you that ‘it totally wasn’t her fault Mum found out about yesterday’. She also wanted to know if ‘you two were still cool’.”

Draco succumbed to a snort of laughter. “The kid’s got nerve, I’ll give her that.” _Cool,_ indeed. Despite his irritation, that little bit of news amused him.

Potter, not so much. “Malfoy,” he started off again, inflecting that irritating, authoritative tone. “What happened?”

Draco shrugged and twisted under the bar. Flexibility was paramount, his instructors had always insisted on that. “Vivian and I had a little disagreement about my job description. I pointed out that I wasn’t her governess and she didn’t really like it.”

“You shouldn’t talk back to the client,” Potter pointed out with a frown.

“The client is a pain in the arse,” Draco replied easily. He raised an eyebrow as Potter’s words registered. “And are you seriously lecturing me on questioning authority? You? Who are you and what have you done with Potter?”

“I’m just trying to run a smooth operation here,” Potter argued. “Now, I’m not telling you how to do your job…”

“Agree to disagree.”

“But,” Potter bit out, talking firmly over him. “You can’t let your emotions cloud your judgement. I don’t care how...well you get alone with your charge. You let that child control you and it all went to shite. _You_ have to be the one in charge, so don’t…”

His rant ended abruptly as Draco swung off the bar and landed surely on his feet.

“I’m just going to say it, Potter,” Draco said evenly. “This is starting to sound a _lot_ like you telling me how to do my job.” He kept his tone cool and borderline disinterested, but there was a curious sensation in his gut— that simmering agitation that only Potter could ever managed to bring out in him. _How_ did the prat always manage to get under his skin? Draco tamped down the urge to break something— preferably right over Potter’s head.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you would just do it properly,” Potter replied just as coolly, crossing his stupidly muscled arms. “If you can’t keep that child in line…”

“There you go again,” Draco snapped, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “The ‘child’, the ‘client’, keep ‘them’ in line— who talks about people like that? Do you have something against names? What do you call me in your head? The ‘back up’?”

If Potter referred to him as ‘back up’ in his head, Draco was going to bludgeon him to death with his own dumbbells.

“No,” Potter spat. “ _You_ will always be ‘Malfoy’, I assure you. Nothing more.”

“Fantastic,” Draco belted back. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t you back to managing your not at all terrifying control issues while I handle my charge my way? The _not_ crazy way. How does that sound, Pot- **oi!** ”

He stumbled as Potter suddenly shoved him, nearly sending him crashing into the wall. Damn, the bastard was strong. “What the fuck?” Draco snarled, righting himself. “Still settling everything with your fists then? It’s nice to know some things don’t change.”

Potter was angry now. His glare was dark and menacing, his green eyes sparking with sheer intensity. Draco’s defensive instincts reared. Apparently, this had become very personal, very fast. Potter’s ill-maintained veneer of professionalism was gone now, replaced with something else. His toned muscles were coiled, his body was shifting to a combative stance and his fists clenched. This, Draco realised, was what lay under that facade of control. _This_ was the man who’d defeated the Dark Lord. And right now, he wanted to fight.

Alright then. Draco smirked and shifted to his own attack stance. “Want to spar, do you?”

Potter put his fists up. “You don’t like the way I do things? Fine. Let’s settle this once and for all. Let me _show_ you why my way works.”

A challenge surged deep inside him, dark and familiar. Draco bared his teeth. “You can try,” he growled.

And then he sprang.

Potter saw it coming miles away. He deflected Draco’s blow and wrenched his arm around easily, pulling him into a hold. Draco hissed in irritation as Potter wrapped a firm arm around him. “Impulsive,” Potter rattled off, like he was reading off a bleeding checklist. “You made a reckless call without considering my response. Mistake number one.” Draco snarled and broke out of the hold, aiming a kick at Potter’s side. Potter dodged and retreated to the sidelines, still watching him, still cataloguing every move. “Sloppy,” he stated. “You could have kneed me in the gut, brought me down without a fight. Mistake number two.”

Oh, he was going _down._

Draco lunged again. He put everything he had into his assault, refusing to pull any punches. He didn’t care if it was just a ‘friendly’ spar between co-workers anymore. Potter had _pissed_ him off in a way he hadn’t thought was possible anymore and damn it, he was going to hurt for it. That was all he wanted at this point. So Draco threw punches and blows, rearing into Potter’s space, pulling back, pushing through again— his focus was gone, his instincts were rearing, and he knew he was acting like an adrenalin addled rookie but he _just_ couldn’t stop himself.

“Wrong,” Potter barked angrily, deflecting yet another blow. “You’re doing it again! You’re not in control! What kind of training did you get out there, Malfoy?”

“Shut up!” Draco snarled. “Just shut the **fuck** up and fight!”

Potter’s eyes narrowed dangerously and then _he_ launched an assault. It was insulting, really. Draco took one blow to the stomach, another to the shoulder— quick, calculated, decisive moves. He landed on his knees and then Potter was on top of him, one deft hand wrapped around his wrists, holding them tight behind Draco’s back and the other digging into his spine.

Draco raged with the sheer humiliation of it. He snarled and he twisted and he bucked but Potter held on easily. “Enough,” he ordered sternly. “Malfoy, _enough._ You’re down. Take the hit.”

“No!” Draco yelled. He wasn’t going down. Not like this. Not to bloody Potter, not _again!_

“Stop,” Potter repeated firmly. His tone was calmer now, level and reassuring. His hold relax marginally, just enough to calm the screaming protests of Draco’s straining muscles. “You’ll hurt yourself. Malfoy, relax. It’s over. It’s done.”

Merlin. Damn. It. All!

Draco stopped struggling. His body slacked under Potter in surrender. Defeat. The bile rose to his throat at the humiliation of it all but his body refused to respond to the agitation. Potter had won. Potter was stronger. Potter was _better_. End of.

“Count to ten, will you?” Potter said. Draco shuddered as strong, calloused fingers kneaded his aching shoulder, soothing the painful strain. That felt good…

“It’ll help,” Potter coaxed. “Just listen to me now, yeah?”

“Get off,” Draco spat sullenly.

“I’ll get off when you get a handle on yourself,” Potter replied sternly. His hand drifted to Draco’s nape now, his thumb stroking gently at the flushed skin. Like he was trying to sooth a snarling, wild animal. Draco tried not to arch into the touch, tried to calm his hammering pulse, _tried_ to focus on Potter’s words instead of his hands.

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Potter was saying. “You can’t lose focus, Malfoy. You have to be in control. If you go with your gut, you’ll get hurt. Probably worse than this. Don’t go by instinct. _Never_ go by instinct.”

“Why not?” Draco asked bitterly. “It worked for you, didn’t it? It always works for _you._ ”

Potter’s hands stilled abruptly. He shifted and got up. Draco rolled on his back and groaned, trying to will away the stabbing pain in his side. When his vision cleared and he chanced a look up, Potter was staring down at him with a pained look in his eyes.

“No,” he said coldly. “It didn’t.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to…”

But Potter was already stalking off, shoulders back and head held high. “The concert is tonight. I’ll expect you to report there by eight with your charge. And for Merlin’s sake, keep your head on straight and don’t mess up.”

And with that he was gone, leaving Draco with more questions he could answer, the bitter taste of humiliation on his tongue and oddly enough, the phantom caress of those deft, capable fingers against his skin.

 

* * *

**Later, that evening:**

 

Harry left Vivian in the capable if slightly harassed hands of her entourage and took another round of the Hall. The concert was due to start in fifteen minutes and things were tense backstage. The stage aides were running around trying to get everything in order, the orchestra was pitching in one last panicked practice before opening night and the Glamour Artists were trying to do their jobs as quickly and unobtrusively as possible without inciting Vivian’s wrath. Good luck to them, Harry thought.

Not that he had much sympathy to spare. His own job was nearly driving him around the bend. He had accompanied Vivian to the Hall well in time, done another check of the grounds, browsed through the Invite Only Guest List four times— everything was going smoothly.

And yet, Harry was edge. As he walked briskly through the opulent West Corridor, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. Perhaps he was just being paranoid. But still…

The need to _do_ something instead of just waiting around prompted Harry to change his direction. He went back down the corridor and to the theatre space.

The room was packed to the brim. Elegantly dressed guests mulled about, murmuring in soft, genteel tones as they waited for the performance to begin so they could take their seats. Harry’s eyes tracked the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Sure enough, he found it.

“No, you listen!” Paris hissed, slamming her fist on the bar counter and glaring daggers at the barkeep. “I want another Vodka Cranberry right _now_ or I’m calling my lawyer. Trust me, you _don’t_ want me to call my lawyer!”

Harry bit back a growl of frustration. For fuck’s sake! Was she _drunk?_ She was listing to one side and her too short red dress was riding up against one thigh. Definitely drunk. And she was making a scene, no less. Oh, Vivian was going to have kittens.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noted an elderly matron in a ball-gown eyeing the younger girl with absolute disgust before furiously whispering to her companion. Harry’s glare darkened. What the hell was Malfoy doing? And where was the bastard anyway? _Why_ wasn’t he taking care of this?

He found said bastard not too far away, leaning against a column and watching Paris with a blend of amusement and annoyance. Malfoy smirked at Harry’s approach, straightening his tie.

“Evening, Boss,” he drawled smoothly.

“Don’t start,” Harry hissed. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Well,” Malfoy said, gesturing to the bar. “As you can see, this party just got a whole lot more interesting.” Paris whooped and did a spin on her stool, eliciting some more outraged murmuring and aghast looks from the guests. Malfoy snickered. “Ten galleons says she does a body shot next.”

Harry was seriously on the verge of snapping. Malfoy had been tap-dancing on his last nerve all day and this just clinched it. To be fair, that little showdown in the gym wasn’t exactly Malfoy’s fault. Harry was the one who had lost his temper. Malfoy had made that ‘control issue’ comment that started the whole scene, but he shouldn’t have let it get to him like that. He also shouldn’t have initiated conflict and goaded Malfoy into a fight. That was probably...not the best way to foster a good working relationship.

And there were other things that hadn’t exactly helped Harry’s frazzled state of mind one bit. The memory of Malfoy sprawled across the floor, panting and flushed. Malfoy’s eyes, flashing with anger as he fought Harry with everything he had. Malfoy slipping out of his grip like a shadow, only to rear back and attack again. Malfoy-- reckless and beautiful, passionate and dangerous, furious and fucking attractive.

_Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy._

All day long, Harry had struggled with his momentary loss of control, with how Malfoy had just gotten under his skin so easily. All day long, he had warded of thoughts of that slender, toned body arching and writhing and fighting for dominance under his own.

And now...now he had this to deal with. He was a right mess but Malfoy was cool as the proverbial cucumber and he _still_ refused to play ball.

“Stop her,” Harry growled. “She’s making a scene.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Let her,” he drawled. “She’s not hurting anyone.”

“She’s hurting herself. No sixteen year old drinks like that!”

“No sixteen...seriously, _what_ world do you live in?” Malfoy laughed incredulously and shook his head. “Look, if you want to stop her, have at it. I’ve said it once and I’m saying it again: it’s not my job to correct her behaviour.”

Seriously? This again? Harry was starting to see red. “It may not be your job to look out for her,” he replied coldly. “But it is common decency to keep a young woman from making a mess of herself in public. Like it or not, she’s your responsibility. Now get her out of here, shove a coffee down her throat and get her backstage where she won’t make this worse. Are we clear?”

Malfoy arched an unimpressed eyebrow. “Crystal, Boss,” he replied insolently. And then he turned on his heel and left before Harry could strangle him.

Harry glared at his retreating back, uttered a prayer to any deity who may be listening to just get him through this, and headed backstage again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay Princess,” Draco drawled, approaching the bar. “Party’s over.”

Truth be told, he had been planning to step in long before Potter showed up. There was no way he would have let the kid get sloshed out of her head. Yes, he probably shouldn’t have let her anywhere near the bar at all but for some reason, he had held back.

For one thing, he had seen how Paris shrank into herself the second they had stepped into the Hall. He had seen the looks she got— those judging, condescending expressions from the assembled guests, silently questioning her worth. Every silent stare seemed to ask the same damn question. So, this is Celestina Warbeck’s legacy? Is the girl worth her family name? Does this brat deserve her good fortune? Everyone single one of them had judged her, eyeing her dress, sneering at the tattoo, whispering about how she looked nothing like Vivian. And Paris had held it together for a while, she really had.

Then some thoughtless bint had remarked that she wasn’t _half_ as pretty as her mother and Paris had decided to take refuge at the bar.

He could have stopped her then. But he really didn’t want to. He knew what it was like to be judged and questioned and evaluated. He understood the pressure — what it was like to be held to an ideal nobody could ever accomplish, to stand in the shadow of your legacy and just... _pray_ you’d be good enough someday. Only, you couldn’t be. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, they were always there. Watching. Judging.

Potter’s world was cut and dry. Black and white. There was no way that self righteous git could understand this. But Draco did. And when he saw those _vultures_ , just waiting in gleeful anticipations for this little girl to fail, he couldn’t bring himself to deny her a little comfort.

Now though, as he helped her off the stool and looked into those hazy, blue eyes he wished he had.

“Warden?” Paris mumbled, rubbing her eyes and smudging her makeup. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” Draco muttered, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around her bird like shoulders. Gods, she was tiny. “We’re just going backstage, yeah? Your mum’s going to be on stage soon. We’ll go see her. Can you make it that far?”

Paris blinked at him rapidly, looking confused and vulnerable and terrifyingly young. “I screwed up again,” she whimpered. “I did, didn’t I?”

“No,” Draco replied firmly. “You did _not_ screw up. I did.”

“S’okay,” Paris slurred, patting his shoulder. “I’m a lost cause.” She giggled and leaned in conspiratorially. “Skeeter wrote that in her article one time.”

Fantastic. Another person he could loathe with all his might. Oh well, at least Skeeter was already on his list. “You’re not a lost cause,” Draco muttered, wrapping an arm around her. “You’re just a kid. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

She lost her footing and stumbled, grabbing hold of his sleeve to steady herself. A portly man with a bulging waistcoat sneered in their direction. “Disgraceful,” he muttered.

Draco shot him a look that could have _killed_. “You’ve got something to say?” he growled dangerously. “How about saying it to me instead of picking on a little girl?”

The wanker paled and scuttled off. Draco sneered at his retreating back. With that, he shot one last lethal glare at the assembled guests and swept Paris into the hallway. Away from _them._

“Bastards,” he muttered under his breath, gathering up the sniffling girl. “Come on, kid. One step at a time, okay?”

“Tha’s Grandma,” Paris informed him, pointing haphazardly at one of several portraits adorning the walls. “An’ that one. An’ that one. An’ that…”

“I get the picture,” Draco sighed. But when she drew to a halt in front of one of the paintings, he let her. Celestina smiled down at her granddaughter, a vision in regal beauty. Paris managed a pained smile.

“She was amazing, you know,” she murmured. “The Singing Sorceress. The most talented witch of her generation. They say there was never anyone like her.”

“That’s what I hear,” Draco agreed quietly.

“I’ll never be her. I can try and try but...it’ll never happen, will it?”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself,” Draco told her gently. “Maybe you should just be you.” Maybe if someone had told _him_ that when he was sixteen, his own life would be different now.

But Paris wasn’t listening anymore. “I can’t sing,” she whispered, sounding agitated and fretful. “Not like her. I’m not good.”

“You’re fine,” Draco said, stepping in to reassure her at once. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Paris shook her head vehemently, well on her way to panicking now. “But I’m not like her! Or Mum! I can’t do it, I just can’t! I...”

 

_Don’t you worry, pretty child._

_I’m right here in your corner,_

_It’s all gonna be alright._

Paris froze. Draco raised an eyebrow. Celestina smiled through her gilded frame and sang for them, her eyes looking down at her granddaughter with nothing but affection.

 

_Like a bird on the wing_

_Soar through your dreams_

_Let your fantasies touch the sky._

“Oh,” Paris whispered, staring up with wide eyes.

They stood in silence for a while, just listening. Paris listened utterly enraptured until the song ended, one petite hand still holding on to Draco’s long after it was over.

“Well, there you go,” Draco said as Celestina’s song finally trailed off. “Straight from the Singing Sorceress herself.”

Paris smiled and touched the frame reverently. “Thanks, Grandma,” she whispered. When she turned to Draco, her eyes were bright again. “Let’s go.”

By the time they made it backstage, Vivian was already halfway through the first performance. Her lilting voice— so much like Celestina’s— carried over, and the her resplendent blue gown shone and shimmered with the lights all around her, drawing delighted sighs and applause from the audience. Potter was backstage as well, keeping an eye on things presumably. He raised an enquiring eyebrow as Draco set Paris down gently in a chair. “Are we good here?” he asked.

Draco shared a look with the girl before turning back to him. “Fine,” he replied. “We’re fine.”

Potter nodded in acknowledgement and reached out to squeeze Draco’s arm. “Good job,” he whispered. “I knew you could handle it.”

Draco stared, caught slightly off guard by the unexpected praise. A part of him reared in instinctive suspicion but Potter’s gaze depicted nothing but sincerity. Those green eyes stared straight at him, unguarded and intense. Oh. Draco swallowed slightly, trying to ignore the tingle of his skin where Potter’s fingers rested. Potter was still touching him. Why was…

“Oh my god, **Mum!** ”

Draco jerked back to reality at Paris’s terrified shriek. Instantly alert, he whirled around to face the stage— just in time to see a spotlight detach itself from the beam above and hurtle downwards with alarming accuracy. Heading straight for Vivian’s head.

 

* * *

 

 

There was no time to think. Harry watched, frozen in horror as the spotlight detached from the beam with an ominous creak. Time seemed to slow down in those brief three seconds and he took in every bit of the horrific sight. The two ton something piece of equipment crashing down at breakneck speed, Vivian’s dark eyes wide and terrified as she tried to summon the wherewithal to move, the sudden screams from the audience and...

Harry jumped in. His feet were moving before he even registered it. He flung himself halfway across the stage, shoving Vivian out of harm’s way. His foot skidded and he crashed to the ground right under the hurtling light, closing his eyes and braced for the impact...

A crash of epic proportions shattered his frozen sense of reality. The impact was so intense, he felt it in his teeth. It still took him about two seconds to realise he was still alive and relatively unhurt. Pieces of glass and wire lay all around him, and he had a cut lip from falling face first on the stage floor but...

“Potter! Potter, are you alright? Talk to me, say something!”

Harry blinked as Malfoy shook him roughly and worried, silver eyes stared into his. “Wha...?”

Malfoy cursed violently and commenced checking him over. “Stay down,” he ordered. “You probably have a concussion. That Shielding Charm wasn’t designed for violent impact. I should have used a...”

Shielding Charm?

“Shielding Charm?” Harry echoed dazedly.

Malfoy stopped fussing and gaped at him incredulously. “Potter,” he said, slowly and carefully. It was obvious that he was fighting to remain calm. “You _have_ noticed that you’re not dead, have you not?”

Harry blinked again. He wasn’t dead. He should be. But he wasn’t. “You cast a Shielding Charm on me,” he managed. He could hardly believe it. Malfoy had saved his life.

Malfoy tutted impatiently. “I was aiming for her,” he explained, nodding at Vivian. She blinked dazedly as people milled about her. Paris was running over and pushing through the crowd, trying to get to her mother. Malfoy turned his attention back to Harry, anger clear in his eyes. “Of course, you just had to play the hero and jump in there. What the hell were you thinking, Potter? What kind of training did you get out there?” Harry half wondered if even Malfoy realised he was mirroring their conversation from earlier in the day. Probably not. If he did, he would be all smug and condescending and Malfoy like. At the moment, he just looked worried and shaken up.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I’m going to check up on her. Do _not_ try to get up.”

Harry scowled and tried to get up anyway, but Malfoy’s hand was suddenly on his chest pushing him back firmly. “Take your own advice,” he said sternly. “Stay down. Take the hit. _Listen_ to me.”

Prat. He’d probably been waiting all day to say that...

Harry subsided with a grumble, grudgingly conceding that Malfoy had a handle on things. For now. His partner nodded tersely and got up, making his way towards Vivian and barking orders for people to clear off.

“Malfoy,” Harry spoke up suddenly.

Malfoy stilled and turned to him, arching an enquiring eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Harry muttered gruffly. “And...good call, back there.”

Dry amusement flashed in Malfoy’s eyes and his lips twitched in the hint of a smirk. “I’ve got your back, Boss,” he drawled.

Too wrung out to even begin arguing with him again, Harry sighed and sprawled back on the ground. His head was ringing and there were shards of glass digging through his clothes. His lip was cut and bleeding and his eyes felt heavy. But at least he was still in one piece. Harry blinked and turned his head, taking a look at the remains of the broken spotlight splintered across the floor. Glass splinters and sparking wires met his gaze. Harry shuddered. One split second, one moment too late and he would have been staring at Vivian’s remains splattered across the...

He took a deep, calming breath which did fuck all for his state of mind. _It was an accident,_ he told himself firmly. Just an unfortunate, morbid twist of fate, that was all. Everything was alright. Everything was fine _._ Nobody got hurt. He just needed to get up and start functioning again and it would all be okay. He sat up and rubbed his temples, trying to take charge. Malfoy seemed to have things under control. He was saying something as he firmly but gently ushered Vivian to the nearest fireplace. Paris held on to his other arm, her knuckles white and her face pale. Harry tore his eyes away from them and went back to the situation at hand. His eyes tracked the shard of glass and the wires again, trying to frame some kind of trajectory. And then he glanced up at the beam over the stage and his blood ran cold.

The beam had been cleaved. A sharp, precise stroke had sawed through the wood, right where the spotlight had been. There were no splinters from a natural break, no faulty wires overhanging, no signs of careless handling, nothing. There was just an unmistakable, deft cut where the light had been— probably the work of a Severing Charm. The wood had been sawed through with the intention of bringing it down on Vivian.

Harry swallowed against the tight lump in his throat.

This had been planned.

Someone had tried to kill Vivian.

“Shite,” he hissed, staggering against the wall. _Accident,_ his mind insisted. It had to be. It just had to, because damn it he couldn’t deal with this. But there it was. Right there in front of him. Someone had planned for this to happen and if it wasn’t for Malfoy’s quick thinking, one of them would be dead right now.

_Shite, shite, shite!_

The wall he was leaning against didn’t seem so solid anymore. Harry pulled himself away shakily and stopped as he found himself looking into a pair of familiar, dark eyes. Celestina smiled at him from her portrait, serene as always. But her last words flashed in Harry’s head like a warning sign.

 

 _Just open your eyes, and look into the light._

_Look into the light._

_The **light.**_

 

“You tried to warn me,” Harry croaked. “You knew.”

Celestina just smiled.

 

* * *

**The next day:**

 

The following day did not make it into Harry’s Top Five. He was functioning on three hours of sleep and six cups of coffee, and no matter how many times he tried to snap out of it and just get on with his job, Celestina’s knowing eyes and splinters of glass haunted his every waking moment. Even worse, he had no way of confirming his suspicions.

The concert organisers had dubbed the whole thing as an accident. Even the local Aurors who had visited the alleged scene of the crime shrugged the whole thing off, claiming a lack of motive. There was just no reason to assume something more sinister was afoot. Clearly, shoddy workmanship and bad timing were the only culprits.

So far, only Harry seemed to disagree.

“I’m fine, Eddie,” Vivian placated as she spoke into the Floo. “I didn’t even get a scratch. See? It was just a bad day.”

Harry’s gaze zeroed in on the anxious, middle aged man in the fireplace. Eddie West— Vivian’s lawyer— pursed his lips and ran a hand through his receding hairline. “I believe you,” he said finally. Harry could hear the doubt in his voice from all the way across the room.

“Good,” Vivian said briskly. “So, I have to run now. Apparently, I’m having dinner with the Ambassador tonight. Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things until the last minute?”

“Vivian, just please be careful. You could have been hurt...”

“Eddie, I’m fine,” Vivian interrupted firmly. There was a steel-like finality in her tone that suggested this discussion was over. “Everything is fine _._ It was an accident, that’s all. Hell, I didn’t even get hurt. Potter here took the worst of it.”

Eddie’s eyes drifted to Harry and he nodded in terse acknowledgement. “If you’re sure,” he sighed. “Just do me a favour and keep a low profile, okay? And speaking of low profiles, where’s Paris right now?”

Vivian frowned and checked her watch. “According to the schedule, she’s supposed to be at her singing classes right...”

“Excellent. So she’s running around the city by herself? That’s just...great, _that’s_ what we need right now.”

Vivian glared and started to respond to that. Harry hastened to cut in. “Malfoy’s with her,” he reported. “He’ll keep her safe.”

At least, Harry hoped so.

Vivian rolled her eyes. “There. You see?” she informed Eddie. “Everything’s under control. Now I really have to run. I’m already behind schedule. Take care and all that. Potter, I’ll see you in the lobby in five, yes?” And she swept out, leaving him to douse the fire and lock up the room.

Harry rolled his eyes as he prepared to leave.

“Mr Potter?”

Harry startled as he realised the face in the fireplace was still very much there. Eddie regarded him with an almost sympathetic expression. “I realise she can be a bit...difficult but do look out for her, won’t you?”

Harry nodded slowly, debating whether or not to voice his questions. “Is there...anything in particular I should be looking out for?” he asked finally.

Eddie smiled thinly. “Just keep your eyes open. And thank you for everything you’ve done for us. It means a lot to me to know they’re safe.”

The fire flared, the face disappeared and Harry was alone again.

Wonderful.

He sighed and cast an Aguamenti, dousing out the dying flames. The look on Eddie’s face had told him everything he needed to know. Something was very, very wrong here, and nobody was going to tell him what it was.

He was going to have to figure this one out for himself. The only question was how.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco marched over and grabbed Lawrence March by the scruff off his collar. “That’s close enough, mate,” he said, shaking the little git for good measure and coincidentally dislodging his hand from Paris’s arse. “Time and place, yeah?”

“Aw, dude!” the kid whined. “Really?”

Paris rolled her eyes and straightened out her dress. “What happened to ‘letting me make my own decisions’ and all that?”

“That was before I found out that your decisions are shite,” Draco retorted. “Besides, your ‘singing lessons’ ended hours ago so I have to take you back anyway.”

“Ugh, fine,” Paris muttered, sliding out of the booth and to her feet. “Can Lawrence at least walk me out?”

“No.”

“Dude, come on!”

Draco suppressed the urge to shake him until that stupid fang earring fell off. “No,” he repeated firmly. “Now beat it, Ringo.”

Lawrence frowned in confusion. “Who?”

“And you call yourself a musician,” Draco scoffed.

Paris huffed and grabbed his arm, steering him away from her boyfriend. “You could be nicer to him, you know,” she scolded as they walked past the bar.

“I’ll be nicer to him when he stops groping you in public,” Draco replied archly. “No decent bloke treats his girlfriend like that.”

Paris grinned and nudged him. “You’re so old fashioned and proper,” she cooed teasingly. “It’s adorable.”

Great. Now he was getting smart-talked by the little chit. Draco jostled her a little. “I’m serious,” he said. “You could do better than the Weird Sisters reject.”

“I guess,” Paris replied thoughtfully. “He’s just...nice. I really needed to take my mind off yesterday.”

Draco winced inwardly. “It scared you?” He wouldn’t be surprised. Hell, it had scared _him._ The only one who didn’t seem too shaken up was Potter. It probably took more than a faulty spotlight to throw Potter off his game. Overachieving twat...

“She could have died,” Paris murmured. “I mean, we fight all the time— like, literally _all_ the time. But she’s still my mum. If something had happened to her...”

“Nothing happened to her,” Draco cut in firmly. He wrapped his arms around the younger girl’s shoulders in a gentle squeeze. Gods, he was getting soft. He blamed Blaise for this, he really did. “It was an accident,” he told her gently. “That was all. Nothing bad is going to happen, okay?”

Evidently, something in his tone had reassured the girl because her wan expression gave way to a smile. “Thanks,” she murmured. Then she grinned and her eyes sparked with mischief. “And since we’re being all friendly and everything, do you think you could settle my tab at the bar?”

Of course.

“I live to serve,” Draco drawled, shooing her out. “Wait for me. No running off on your own.”

“I would never,” Paris informed him haughtily, ignoring his snort of derision as she waved and skipped out the door.

 Brat.

Draco shook his head, shucked a few galleons on the bar and shelled out a nice tip for good measure. That should do it. He made his own way up the stairs and out the door, intending to collect his charge and head on back to the hotel without further incident.

It was all so easy and straightforward. He should have known something was going to go drastically wrong.

**“Get off me, you creep!”**

Paris’s terrified scream rang out, freezing him in his tracks. The next second, Draco was running. He burst out the door wand in hand, only to see his charge backed in a corner. The man towering above her held his hands held out in a gesture of placation but his brown eyes were shifty and tensed. He ran his hands through his unruly dark hair again, speaking in a smooth, cajoling tone.

“Sweetheart, I just want to talk,” he pressed, taking a step towards her. “I’m only trying to do what’s best for you here. Now, come on. Let’s just go somewhere private and we’ll work this whole thing out...”

“Stay **away** from me!” Paris screeched, backing further into the wall. Her eyes were wide and terrified and when she caught sight of Draco, her breath hitched in a half sob. “Draco, help,” she whimpered.

Draco had seen enough. With strength he hadn’t even known he possessed, he reached out and grabbed the bloke by the collar, dragging him away. “Back the fuck off,” he hissed, situating himself between the two. Paris huddled behind him for safety. The sight enraged him like nothing else. He raised his wand again, making his point perfectly clear. “Back off right now,” Draco repeated coldly. “You so much as look at her wrong and there won’t be enough of you left to regret it.”

“And who the hell are you?” the man sneered. His eyes raked Draco insolently, sizing him up. Draco readied himself for an attack. If this bastard wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

“Leave us alone!” Paris screeched. “Just go away, Leonard! Go away!”

“Paris, please,” ‘Leonard’ tried again. “I just want to talk. That’s all. Just call the guard-dog off for a second. We’ll fix this. Please, baby...”

He reached for her again and that’s when Draco reacted. It was a standard tactic and one he had practiced countless times with his instructors. Fortunately for everyone involved, Leonard was ridiculously easy to subdue. One swift kick to the knee sent him crashing to the ground. Draco sprang for him and tackled him easily, using his weight to keep him down. In seconds, he had the man pinned with one elbow digging into his back and a wand pointed straight at his head.

“Holy shite!” Leonard snarled, struggling wildly. “What the **fuck?!** I’m going to get you thrown in Azkaban for this, you bastard!”

“Good luck with that,” Draco sneered. That threat had lost its charm years ago. Besides, it was hard to take a man seriously when he was being pinned in the street, face first. Draco dug his elbow into Leonard’s spine again, smirking viciously when he yelped in pain. “Now, here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to let go in a minute, and you’re going to get up and walk away. Look back and I’ll hex you. Turn around and I’ll rearrange your face. Talk to Paris again and I’ll murder you.”

There was a crowd around them now— worried faces peeking through, mutterings about calling in the Aurors. The scuffle had left Draco with a bruised knee and a torn sleeve, but he didn’t give a damn. Nothing mattered except getting this creep away from Paris right now.

“Fine,” Leonard gasped. “You win, you win already!”

Draco released him and retreated, making sure to keep himself in front of Paris as Leonard struggled to stand.

“So that’s the way it is,” he sneered, glaring daggers at both of them. “Fine, then. I’ll guess I’ll just...wait a minute.” He trailed off. His eyes settled on Draco’s bare arm, widening as he realised what he was seeing. In the light of day, The Mark was stark against his skin. Draco cursed inwardly. Damn it! The uneasy mutterings from the crowd recommenced, the word ‘Auror’ coming up far more often now.

“Well well well,” Leonard drawled. “So Vivian’s finally snapped. Where did she find you exactly? Cell Block B?”

Draco bared his teeth and took a menacing step forward but Paris grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Let’s go,” she whispered urgently. “They’re talking about calling the Aurors. We have to go!"

“Stay away from her,” Draco growled. “Or I’ll show you _exactly_ what I learned in Death Eater Orientation.”

“Draco, come on!” Paris hissed, pulling urgently now. Her eyes flashed as she regarded Leonard again. “Stay away from us. We have nothing to say to you.”

Leonard smiled thinly and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Some other time then,” he drawled. And with that, he was gone, shoving through the crowd and disappearing into the streets.

Draco had half a mind to give chase, just to see how fast Leonard could run, but Paris was already moving as fast as she could in the opposite direction. Reluctantly, he fell in step with her. Her eyes were wet and her hands were shaking as she fiddled with her phone. She was obviously shaken up. That, more than anything, was disconcerting. In Draco’s limited experience, there wasn’t much that shook Paris up. Who was this Leonard character anyway? And why was his charge so worked up over him?

“Am I going to have to ask?” he said, as the silence bore on.

Paris pursed her lips and swiped angrily at her eyes. “Nobody,” she bit out. Draco wasn’t even sure what unspoken question that was supposed to answer. “He’s nobody,” she repeated firmly. “Just...someone my mother knew once.”

“What did he want with you?” Draco demanded. There wasn’t one plausible reason he could come up with which would make sense.

“I don’t know,” Paris replied tersely. “I don’t know and I don’t care. He’s not a part of my life anymore. So just...just ignore him, alright?”

“Ignore the maniac who just chased you down the street?” Draco asked wryly. Paris just huffed and quickened her steps. Draco gripped her arm gently and drew her to a halt. She wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes kept darting back, as if expecting Leonard to follow. Damn it, she really _was_ scared of him.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Draco promised quietly. “But I have to know what I’m up against. Meet me halfway here, kid. Just tell me who he is and I’ll take it from there.”

“Nobody,” Paris insisted stubbornly. “Just forget about him.”

“For the love of Salazar,” Draco snapped. “Don’t you understand what could have happened? Do you like making things difficult for everyone just because you can? No, _listen_ to me! I can’t protect you if I don’t know what I’m protecting you from! Do you even realise that I’m flying blind here?” She averted her gaze, still keeping stubbornly silent. Draco’s temper flared. “Fine,” he bit out coldly. “Then I’m done. I’m taking you back to the hotel, I’m telling your mother what happened and then I’m taking the next Portkey out of here. You’re on your own from now on.”

And with that, he turned his back on her and prepared to storm off.

“So you’re leaving me too.”

Draco skidded to a halt so abruptly that he nearly tripped. Paris was glaring angrily at him, all defiance and stubbornness on the surface, but there was a wet sheen to her eyes that spoke of hurt.

“Fine, then,” she snapped. “Go! I don’t need you anyway. You can just...just leave like everyone else. See if I care!”

Draco didn’t even get a chance to respond to that. Before he could so much as register what was happening, she brought out the secret weapon. Her eyes welled up and she burst into tears.

Draco sighed in utter exasperation. Really?

“That’s not going to work,” he informed her.

Paris just sobbed harder and buried her face in her hands. And they were real tears, too. Draco had witnessed enough of Pansy’s tantrums to recognize a fake out. But this was the real thing.

Damn. It. All. To. Hell!

“Oh, stop it,” he grumbled, grudgingly returning to her side. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You s-said you would,” Paris sniffled accusingly.

“I say a lot of things. It doesn’t mean you have to cry about it, you spoilt brat.”

All that achieved was Paris curling against him and crying into his chest. Draco rolled his eyes and patted awkwardly at her blonde curls. “I’m not leaving you,” he promised gruffly. “Not until I know you’ll be safe. And you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to either.”

“Thanks,” Paris sniffled. “I just...I don’t like thinking about him.”

Draco sighed heavily. His job was about to get a lot harder, he just knew it. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on things, that’s all.”

“So you’ll stay?” Paris demanded suspiciously. “You...you won’t leave me?”

No, he wouldn’t. Not until he figured out who the hell was after this kid and why.

“Let’s go,” he decided. “Your mother’s probably worried.”

At the back of his mind, he made a note not to mention any of the day’s happenings to Vivian or Potter. Not until he knew more, at least.

 

* * *

 

 

Another week went by and things had started to settle down a bit. Harry was almost optimistic. Lunch with the Ambassador had been dull, but mercifully uneventful. Aside from a few gate crashers, the parties and the autograph sessions had seen very little excitement. Overall, things were as good as they were going to get and the night of the next concert dawned without further incident. 

Well, no _major_ incident at least. 

“I keep telling you they weren’t my cigarettes!” Paris yelled. They had been arguing for an hour now inside Vivian’s dressing room. Even with the door firmly shut, their voices carried over. “Lawrence left them in my room. I don’t even smoke menthols!”

“Oh, that’s alright then,” Vivian shouted back. “By the way, quick question: why was that boy in your room in the first place?”

“He’s my boyfriend!” Paris snapped. “And we were just talking. God, you act like you caught us...”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought!” Vivian screeched. “You will not see that boy again, you hear me? He is bad news and I will not have you throw your life away for some...some freeloader who only wants you for your name and fortune!”

“Are we still talking about me and Lawrence? Because this is starting to sound a _lot_ like you and...”

“You watch your mouth, young lady!”

“But it’s the truth! You can’t even...”

“I’m not discussing this with you anymore. I am your mother and if you would just stop and _think_ for a minute, you’d realise what I go through for you!”

“You’re only thinking about yourself! I don’t want to go to any more stupid concerts. I don’t want any more singing lessons and I don’t want to be here with you! I want to go home!”

“Well, you can’t! You can’t go home because you have to stay here with me!”

“Why?”

Harry tried very hard not to listen, but it was hard to ignore the sudden, telling silence in the wake of all that shouting.

“Why?” Paris demanded again. “Why do I _have_ to stay here? Why can’t I go home? Why don’t you ever tell me anything?”

An excellent question, if Harry did say so himself.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Vivian informed her haughtily. “You will do what you’re told and that’s final. And I’m telling you to go out there, behave yourself and mingle with this crowd. There are people here who could get you in the music business if you would just make an effort! And please, for the love of Merlin, don’t embarrass me like last time.”

“If I’m such an embarrassment, don’t drag me to your damn concerts! Just sing your stupid songs and leave me alone!”

“Fine!”

“Fantastic! Oh, and by the way? I gave Lawrence my room key. Okay, bye then!”

Vivian’s resounding shriek of outrage was drowned out by the door bursting open. Harry stepped out of the way in record time as Paris barrelled out, nearly stampeding over him in an effort to get away from her furious parent.

“Where’s Draco?” she demanded, turning on him. “Why isn’t he here? Did you send him away? Did you?”

“He’s out doing the perimeter check, Miss Warbeck,” Harry replied, striving for polite neutrality. It was difficult. “I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

“Wonderful,” Paris snapped, whirling off in a huff. “I’ll be at the bar.”

And with that, she was gone. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m guessing she got that from your side of the family?” he asked one of Celestina’s ever present portraits. All he got was a fond smile, big surprise. Harry’s brow furrowed as he remembered his last...conversation with the portrait.

“So,” he said, approaching the gilded frame. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything interesting lately? Something out of the ordinary?”

The memory of the last ‘accident’ was still hovering at the edge of his mind. Celestina had known something was off that night. She had seen something. So far, she was his only ally; the only other person (so to speak) besides Harry who suspected something out of the ordinary.

At the moment however, she wasn’t being too helpful. Harry sighed as Celestina quirked an eyebrow at him and remained silent.

“I suppose not,” he muttered.

 

_A cauldron full of trouble_

_And it’s brewing tonight_

_Say you’ll make it all alright._

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. His pulse quickened as he registered it— the unmistakable warning in those pretty, trite verses.

 

_Tonight._

_She said **tonight.**_

 

“Damn,” he cursed, turning and heading for Vivian’s dressing room on the double. It was empty. She must be on stage. Harry’s head reeled as he considered the situation. It was just like the last time— no one would see it coming and no one would even know until it was too late. Harry had to get her out of there now. He could run. He _would_ run. But a Patronus would get there faster.

In seconds, the stag materialised from the tip of his wand. “Find someone in charge. Anyone will do,” Harry ordered frantically. “Tell them Vivian’s in dan...”

There was a sharp crack and the splinter of breaking china. Pain bloomed at the back of Harry’s head and his vision blurred. The last thing he saw as he plummeted to the ground was the stag disappear in a shimmer of useless mist.

He had failed.

Vivian was going to die.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco’s perimeter check took a whole lot longer than he’d expected. Twenty minutes and two rounds of customary spells later and he still found himself walking the corridors of the Concert Hall, looking for...something. Perhaps, Potter’s paranoia was wearing off on him, or it might have been that incident in the street the other day, but Draco just found himself on edge— waiting for something awful to happen. 

“Well, this isn’t working,” he muttered as he came full circle yet again.

There was nothing for it but to admit defeat. Draco slipped into the theatre, just in time to see Vivian take her place on the stage. She smiled gracefully as the audience applauded, bright and beautiful and utterly captivating. It made it all that easier for Draco to slip in and make his way towards the back. 

“There you are,” Paris muttered, sidling over to him. “I thought you’re not supposed to leave me alone.”

“I didn’t leave you alone,” Draco whispered back. “You were backstage with your mother while I scoped out the place. Besides, Potter was right there with you.”

“Yeah, him,” Paris acquiesced. She sighed wearily. “He doesn’t smile much, does he?”

Draco smirked. That was certainly one way of putting it. Most of the time, he tried not to think too hard on Potter and that ridiculous strong-and-silent vibe he had going on. But it was getting increasingly difficult. They did share a living space after all. It became a lot harder to keep one’s distance in a cramped room. Especially when one’s roommate seemed to suck up all the space in there just by sprawling on his bed in tight jeans or emerging from the shower with just a towel wrapped around his waist or by doing both those things one after the other with infuriating frequency. Draco was convinced that the room had shrunk to half its size over the past week. At least, it felt about the size of a broom closet when Potter returned all dirt streaked and sweaty from the gym...

“He’s not bad to look at though,” Paris pointed out suddenly.

Draco jerked back to reality. “I’m sorry?”

She grinned cheekily. “Let’s just say if he wasn’t so old, I’d be _much_ nicer to him.” 

“Good to know. And now I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased. “He’s sort of cute— in a very angry sort of way.”

“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?”

 “I’ve seen you looking at him.”

It took Draco ten seconds to formulate an appropriate response to that. “I’m sorry, you’ve seen _what?”_

“It’s okay to be gay these days, you know. I mean, things have changed and everything. I’m sure it was all forbidden and taboo in _your_ time but it’s a new era now.”

Another ten seconds. “First of all,” Draco finally retorted. “I’m twenty six, not a hundred and twenty six. And as grateful as I am for your blessing, Potter is not... an option. We have a...let’s just say there’s a bit of a history there.” And if that wasn’t Understatement of the Year, Draco didn’t know what was.

“Yeah,” Paris scoffed. “That doesn’t make it hot.”

“We need to get you back to school,” Draco muttered, trying his level best to pretend his cheeks were not flushed and that he wasn’t thinking about Potter in ‘less than professional’ terms. Damn Paris for putting it in his head! As if things weren’t complicated enough what with the spotlights and the stalking maniacs—a romantic entanglement was the last thing this menagerie needed. Besides, Potter didn’t even know he existed. No, he was far too busy ‘protecting the client’ and being all serious and intense and broad shouldered...

Damn it.

Thankfully, the audience decided that this was the perfect moment for a standing ovation. Draco jerked out of his thoughts as Vivian’s final song ended and she took a bow. She smiled and took a graceful bow, prompting another round of applause.

“Yay, it’s over,” Paris deadpanned. “Now we can go home. Oh, _wait_. I forgot about the after party. Two hours of ‘ _Wasn’t Vivian fabulous? I thought she was fabulous. Did you think she was fabulous? Because I thought she was...’_ ”

“Pettiness does not become a young lady,” Draco informed her. He took her arm and steered her towards the stage. “Now come on. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all...”

A fist clamped around his arm. Draco was completely caught off guard as he was slammed face first into a solid wall. Paris’s resounding scream was nearly drowned out by the sound of an ominous crack that just had to be his skull and then there were hands on his collar, pulling him up and slamming him back against the wall.

“Is it him?” a voice barked.

“Fits the description,” was the grim response. “Check his arm.”

Draco blinked dazedly, trying to get his head to stop reeling. Holy Salazar, that hurt! Just then, the hands removed their grip from his back to fumble with his sleeves. Draco slammed back into action. One quick jab with the elbow sent his assaulter reeling and gave him enough time to retrieve his wand. His head was still throbbing and he would probably have to sit down for a week after this, but he understood enough to know he needed to focus right now. He had been attacked— right in the middle of a crowded concert hall with little to no provocation.

He had no idea who these people were but they were either complete idiots or pretty damn confident.

By the time he turned around and positioned himself, Paris was already on the sidelines safely out of wand range. Smart girl, Draco thought grimly. At least he had taught her well. His attackers didn’t really seem too bothered by the crowd surrounding them. Wan, anxious faces peered through the melee and that _really_ didn’t bode well for undercover work but none of that mattered right now.

All that mattered was the two men standing in front of him, with raised wands and smug, contemptuous expressions. Draco’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Can I help you?” he hissed, clenching his fist around his own wand. He could probably take them both out with a quick hex but it was risky in such a crowded area. Close combat on the other hand...

“Don’t make this harder than it is, Malfoy,” the tall burly one said, rubbing his neck grimly. Draco noticed the bruise and surmised that he’d struck this one.

“Just come quietly,” the second one— a stocky blond ordered sternly. “It’s over.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Draco spat.

“We know who you are,” the first one replied. “And you’re coming with us before you start any trouble.” His eyes narrowed grimly. “I always knew it was a bad idea letting your kind loose on the streets. You should be locked up for life.”

And just like that Draco knew who they were.

No. Oh no. Not now. Not _here._

“He’s not going anywhere with you!”

Paris had seen enough. She marched back in the fray, still looking absolutely terrified but clearly defiant as she situated herself firmly between Draco and the other two. “Get lost,” she demanded shakily. “You’re not taking him anywhere and that’s final!”

“Paris, move,” Draco whispered. He felt hollow inside. After everything, after all he had done to redeem himself, it was back. There was no running from this. And gods, the people were all around them and everyone was watching and...

“Miss, step aside,” the blond ordered sternly.

“No!” Paris screeched. “Leave him alone! Get out of here before I call my lawyer!” Her threat received no response save for stony, determined expressions. Her determined expression crumbled and when she turned back to Draco, her eyes were teary. “Who are they? What do they want?”

“We’re Aurors, Ma’am,” the blonde declared. “And we’re here to take this Death Eater into custody.”

 

* * *

 

“What?”

Paris’s whisper sounded like a scream in the silence.

“He’s a Death Eater,” the first Auror repeated triumphantly. “And we’re taking him in.”

Draco swallowed around a hard lump in his throat. “On what charges?” he asked quietly.

“Does it matter?” the second Auror asked with an ugly sneer. “Vivian Warbeck nearly dies at her last concert and then we get an anonymous tip about a Death Eater sniffing about. We don’t need a whole lot more than that.”

“But he’s with us!” Paris protested. “He’s my...”

“Miss, you need to step aside right now or I’ll be forced to...”

“Don’t touch her,” Draco snarled. They stiffened and raised their wands again and he pulled back, holding his hands up in surrender. No matter how bad this was for him, he still had a responsibility. Paris sure as hell didn’t need to get involved in this. This wasn’t her fault. No, it was his fault and nobody else’s. Evidently, he was going to pay for it yet again. Draco took a deep breath and turned back to the Aurors. “I’ll come quietly. Just leave her alone.”

“No!” Paris snapped.

“Don’t argue,” Draco sighed, pushing her away gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

It took more than that to mollify Paris Warbeck. She straightened her slim shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m going to find Mum,” she told him firmly. “She’ll talk to Eddie. We’ll fix this. I _won’t_ let them take you.” And with one last lethal glare at the Aurors, she hurried off in Vivian’s direction. Draco’s eyes tracked her until she disappeared into the crowd. Vivian was off stage now but she was still surrounded by her own admirers, oblivious to recent happenings at the back of the hall. Evidently, their little commotion hadn’t garnered that much attention after all.

“Okay,” Draco muttered after a beat of tense silence. He tossed his wand at the nearest Auror. “Let’s go.” If he was lucky, they’d let him make a Floo call to Blaise. Blaise could probably swing something and get him out of custody. And after that...after that, Draco was done. He’d leave again. Probably back to Singapore. Or India. Somewhere far away where his past would leave him alone. This pipe dream was over.

It was all over.

“Come on then,” Tall-and-Surly said, grabbing his arm roughly and herding him off. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be...”

Draco was too caught up in his own mental torment to listen. The crowd parted as they passed and every face held the same set of expressions— fear, hatred, disgust. He should have known it wouldn’t be this simple. He should have known it would all go to hell. Why had he even dared to hope something could change? If even Potter, in his infinite goodness couldn’t bring himself to say more than two words to Draco, why would anyone else give him half a chance? Potter probably wouldn’t even notice he was gone. Vivian might. Paris definitely would. Draco’s heart clenched painfully. That was the worst part—letting the kid down. He had promised to protect her. Instead, there _she_ was trying to pull him out of his mess. He could still see her, trying to push through the crowd to reach her mother, trying to help _him_. It was nice to know someone gave a damn, though.

He tried to catch her eye once again— maybe to reassure her or tell her not to worry, he didn’t know. All he knew was he didn’t want anyone going through anymore trouble for his...

That’s when he saw it. Just a little distance from where Paris was shoving through the crowd, someone else was making his way to Vivian too. A nondescript character in a black coat— but he was moving fast, shoving people in his haste. Vivian had her back to him and had yet to notice the commotion, but Draco did. The man looked fairly innocuous —a little too innocuous. In the split second he had, Draco tried to memorise his features. He couldn’t. Try though he might, the man’s face shifted in and out of his focus like mist, making him impossible to recognize.

A Glamour Charm.

Draco’s blood ran cold. “Stop,” he choked out, trying to pull away from the Auror’s grip. “We have to stop...”

“Don’t start,” the Auror snapped. “You can talk all you in...”

A flash of silver. The knife emerged from the man’s pocket, sliding into his fingers. He shoved through again and reached for Vivian, raising the blade and drawing back...

**“No!”**

Draco reacted on pure instinct. A well placed kick to the knee sent the Auror sprawling and a punch to the gut incapacitated the other one. Draco grappled with the first wand he could get his hands on and cast the only spell that came to mind.

“Expelliarmus!”

Shrieks of terror and dismay rang out as the man went hurtling back, crashing into the wall. Draco vaulted right after him, shoving through the melee and ignoring Vivian and Paris’s horror-struck expressions. There would be time for damage control later, he told himself. But for now, there was the immediate problem of the would-be murderer who had incidentally recovered from his assault and was now moving with alarming speed towards the window.

Not a damn chance.

The window shattered— another well placed Charm— and the man vaulted over the shattered glass and out into the lawns. Draco followed in close pursuit, praying the Apparition Wards across the property would keep his quarry in bounds. As far as he could remember from his countless checks, the wards extended across the perimeter ending at the West Gate. By happy coincidence, that was exactly what the man was heading for.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Draco snarled, casting another hex.

The man went down with a crash. It was the only chance he was going to get and Draco went for it. They slammed into the ground again as they kicked and punched. The wands were lost somewhere in the scuffle and fists flew. Draco got a few good hits in but the bastard was quick— not to mention he still had that damned knife.

“Who are you?” Draco demanded as he dodged a well placed stab. “Show yourself!” The Glamour was still holding strong but if he goaded the man into speaking, he might let something slip.

All he got for his efforts was stoic silence. Those incongruous features shifted into something vaguely menacing and the knife cut through the air again, missing Draco by an inch. Damn it. It was a clumsy swipe but a blade was still a blade. Draco wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. _Keep him_ _distracted_ , he told himself firmly. _Do **not** let him get away._

“You attacked her before, didn’t you?” he demanded. “You brought that light down.”

Another stab. Draco cursed and dodged, circling around to block the gate. “It’s over,” he spat. “You’re trapped. Don’t make this worse. Just take the Glamour off and we can make it easier. Just...”

“There he is! That’s the Death Eater!”

The curse caught him from behind. There was no time to react. The searing pain spread through his spine, setting every nerve in his body on fire. Draco collapsed to his knees as the pain cut right through him, cleaving into his bones and his muscles, twisting his body. His mouth opened but he couldn’t scream. It felt like his throat was being torn open and he still couldn’t scream; he couldn’t do a damn thing. He was going to die. Right here, in the gardens of this wretched theatre, he was going to die and...

“Expelliarmus!”

The pain stopped as abruptly as it had started. There was a shout of anger, a sharp crack and... voices probably, but everything was getting dimmer. Draco grit his teeth and ignored the protests of his near destroyed muscles as he turned his head. Through streaming eyes, he noticed the West Gate swinging open.

He was gone. The attacker had escaped. All of this had been for nothing.

“...your damn badges myself!”

The voice sounded furious —and vaguely familiar— but like everything else, it really didn’t seem to matter anymore. It was over. He had failed. Draco closed his eyes and then there was silence.

 

* * *

 

Harry woke up to blurred vision and the taste of blood in his mouth. His head felt like it was splintering into sharp, jagged little pieces and it was all he could do not to pass out again.

“Fuck,” he hissed, trying to pull himself off the floor. Someone had attacked him. Someone had broken a fucking vase over his head. The shattered, white porcelain pieces were scattered all around him. His head spun again and his pulse sped up rapidly. Someone had put him out of commission to get to Vivian.

Vivian!

“Damn it!” Harry cursed, breaking into a run. Even as his head cleared and his wand slipped into his palm, he knew it was too late. He could have been out for hours and that would have been more than enough time to...

Oh Merlin, he hoped Malfoy had stepped in. What if he hadn’t? What if Vivian was dead? Harry cursed a blue streak. He should have been more careful, more alert. He knew something was going to happen and he hadn’t stopped it. He should have...

His thoughts trailed off as he bolted into the theatre. It was chaos. Someone shoved past him in an effort to get to the exit and a woman was screaming for the Aurors. Staff milled about, trying to pacify the terrified crowd. Harry’s frantic eyes tracked the room, searching for his client. Seconds passed like ages, but he finally found them huddled at the back. Vivian looked pale and drawn, and Paris was absolutely hysterical but they were unhurt. Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief as he waded over to them.

Paris saw him first.

“He had a knife!” she screamed, pointing at the window. “Draco went after him! And they went after him!”

What?!

It took another five minutes to get her to make sense, and what she told him left him cold. “Get back to the hotel as fast as you can,” he ordered. “Look after your mother. I’ll meet you there.”

“Get Draco,” Paris mumbled tearfully. “We’re fine. Get Draco back.”

Harry managed what should pass as a reassuring nod, and then he was tearing off again.

He burst into the gardens, silently praying to every deity he could think of— and a few more he may or may not have made up. What he saw confirmed there was no higher power looking out for him. Quite the opposite, in fact. For a split second, Harry could only stare in shock.

Two men— Aurors, judging by the badges pinned on their cloaks— were at the scene. Their wands were up and curses were flying back and forth, horrible red and green flashes against the dark backdrop of the night. And they were attacking...

“What the **hell?**!” Harry snarled. “Expelliarmus!”

The wand flew into his grasp and Malfoy collapsed like a broken marionette. Harry elbowed past the Aurors and all but flew to his side, but Malfoy didn’t even register his presence. Those silver eyes fluttered dazedly, trying and failing to get a fix on something.

“No,” Malfoy moaned. “All...for nothing...no...”

His eyes rolled back in his head and then he was still save for a few shuddering breaths. Harry found himself frozen, unable to do anything but stare at that pale, thin figure sprawled in the dirt. His mind catalogued every minute detail— the cut above Draco’s eyebrow which was surely going to scar, those long legs bent at that painful angle, lips pressed tightly as Draco fought off the pain, refusing to scream...

...and the fact that somehow in this moment, ‘Malfoy’ had become ‘Draco’. Draco who was hurt and bleeding and half dead from pain, who probably wouldn’t _be_ in this situation if Harry had just done his job, who had been attacked and assaulted for no damn reason except...

The anger that had been simmering in his gut surged to the surface. He twisted his wrist and the wands snapped in half.

“Oi!” The Auror yelled angrily. “What do you think you’re...”

Harry turned to him, eyes blazing. “You used a Crucio on him,” he hissed. He was shaking with fury. He had to physically quell the urge to just lunge at the bastard and shove what was left of his wand down his throat. Of all the sick, twisted things he had seen in the field, this topped the list ten times over.

The Auror retreated a step and his partner blanched. They were fairly young, Harry noted. Juniors, most likely. He knew the type— opportunistic, reckless, always on the lookout for glory and a quick rise to the top. Taking out a Death Eater must have looked pretty damn good to them. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he thought of Malfoy still passed out from the pain. “You better have a good explanation for this, gentlemen,” he said, keeping his tone low and even. “Because if I find that you permanently damaged my partner while he was doing his job, I’ll destroy your damn badges myself.”

They exchanged nervous glances. Apparently, neither had realised that Harry was technically a civilian and couldn’t make good on his threat without facing serious charges. Either that or they just hadn’t figured they’d get reprimanded for taking out a Death Eater. Whatever it was, it didn’t say much for their reasoning skills.

“He was resisting arrest,” one of them finally spoke up. “We tried not to use excessive force but...”

“But he was clearly a danger to the public,” Harry cut in, taking a step in their direction. “Tell me, did he make threats? Attack an unarmed audience? Demand ransom or take hostages? He must have at least used an Unforgivable.”

“Well, not technically but...”

“But he was there,” Harry finished. Their shifty looks told him everything he needed to know. “You attacked without provocation, you used an Unforgivable in the field, you nearly killed a man who was cleared of all charges eight years ago and you unintentionally aided in the escape of a murder suspect.” Harry sneered. “Gentlemen, there are forty five statutes, by-laws and amendments that constitute the DMLE Code of Conduct. You are in violation of almost every single one of them.”

Oh, they didn’t like that one bit. One of them rediscovered his backbone and scowled at Harry. “Those are extenuating circumstances at best. As for the alleged ‘murder suspect’, we didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. What we did see was this Death Eater make a break for it after we arrested him. And if you interfere, we’ll be forced to...to...”

He trailed off at Harry’s thin smile. “There would have been an arrest tonight if it wasn’t for your interference,” he said coldly. “Malfoy had the suspect cornered, and he escaped because of your stupidity. So, why don’t we settle this? Go ahead and make your arrest. In the meantime, I’ll file a report with your superiors at the DMLE citing assault, indiscretion and prejudice in the field. And of course, Vivian Warbeck will have her lawyer get in touch with you as well. We’ll see how it all works out.”

It was a gamble, but it paid off. They didn’t have a leg to stand on and they knew it. “There was no murder attempt,” the blonde Auror snapped sourly. “But we’ll let you off with a warning this time. Just keep an eye on the Death Eater or we’ll have to step in again.”

Harry’s fingers twitched. “I think it’s time you took your leave,” he said evenly.

They did. One last sneer for him and a disdainful glance in Draco’s general direction and they Apparated out of sight. Harry didn’t waste a second.

“Draco,” he whispered, running over to his prone partner. Draco groaned and stirred, hissing in pain.

“Got away,” he croaked. “I had him, Potter. I did and they...”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “I saw. Just...just take it easy, okay? We’ll get him next time. We will, I promise. But you have to rest now.”

But Draco was already shaking his head and trying to get up. “West Gate,” he muttered, brushing the dirt off his clothes viciously. “We can track him. The Apparition trail...”

“...is cold,” Harry cut in firmly. He placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and pushed him back down gently. “We waited too long. I’m sorry.” Draco sagged in his grip. Anger flashed in his eyes and Harry despaired at the bleakness of it all. The suspect was gone, Draco was hurt and Harry had been less than useless in the whole thing. Why had he let himself get taken out? Why hadn’t he _done_ something?

Evidently, Draco was having similar thoughts because he scowled and sat up abruptly “Yeah?” he snapped, shaking Harry off and making to get up again. “Well, you can be sorry alone. I’m going after him and _you_ don’t have to come. Heaven forbid you actually cooperate with me on something...”

He staggered and Harry reached out to help him, hissing in frustration when Draco tried to push him off again. “Bugger off,” Draco snapped. “I don’t need your help. I got along this far without you, didn’t I?”

“And how’s it all working out?” Harry asked. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Draco’s eyes flashed and he shoved him angrily. “I said back off,” he growled. “I told you I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do,” Harry snapped, tightening his grip. “You were cursed six ways to Sunday and you can barely walk. You’re in no shape to do anything but rest and we are leaving this place right now. End of discussion.”

“Who died and made you Head Auror?” Draco snarled. “Newsflash, Potter. You do not tell me what to do. You never have and you never will. We are supposed to work _together_ and so far, all you’ve done is refuse to meet me halfway! So I’m going to do this alone— like I always do. Now get out of my way or I’ll...”

In hindsight, grabbing Draco and Apparating back to the hotel wasn’t the smartest move. Sure enough, as soon as they hit solid ground again, Draco growled and lunged for him. For someone who had just been cursed to oblivion and back, he was surprisingly good at throwing punches. Harry took a sharp hit to the jaw before recovering ground and fending his angry partner back. Draco retaliated with uncharacteristic speed and accuracy and before he knew it, Harry was engaged in a full on scuffle. He landed on the bed with Draco on top (and wasn’t _that_ an inappropriate choice of phrasing), spitting curses at him.

“It’s your fault!” Draco snarled, swinging at him again. “You and those fucking Aurors! I had him! This would have been over by now if you had just _been_ there! Do you know what it’s like? What it feels like to come _this_ close and have it all blow up in your face? No, of course you don’t! You’re fucking Potter! Everything always works out for _you_ but heaven forbid things go my way just once in...”

“You think you’re the only one who feels bad about this?” Harry yelled back. He swung his leg and rolled them over. Draco’s eyes flashed as he was easily pinned, but he met Harry’s glare head-on. Harry scowled back, half considering taking a swing of his own. “Here’s a newsflash for you,” he growled. “I do know what it’s like to fail. I know _exactly_ how you feel right now. You’re frustrated and you’re angry with yourself and it scares you how bad things could have turned out. I _know._ You want to know something else? I _am_ meeting you halfway right now. I’m trying to stop you from going after Merlin knows what in your condition and getting killed. So _please_ , try to understand that I’m on your side.I’m just...I’m not good at this. I’m not good at working with a partner. I screwed up. I know I did. And I’m sorry. But I can’t let you get hurt. So can you please just calm down and meet _me_ halfway?”

The silent standoff lasted an entire minute. Then he felt, rather than saw, the tension finally leave Draco’s frame. One minute he was sharp and rigid and ready to attack Harry any which way, and then the stiffness bled out and he flopped back on the bed with a tired sigh. “Fine,” he muttered sullenly. “Since you care enough to make up that load of crap.”

Wanker. Harry released his wrists and rolled on his back, joining Draco in staring at the ceiling. For a few moments there was silence as they mulled over their respective thoughts. It was Draco who finally voiced what they were both thinking.

“We’re in way over our heads,” he said quietly. “I did not sign up for this.”

“Me neither,” Harry sighed. “This was supposed to be a dull, quiet job. Neville actually thought it would be like a vacation.”

Draco chuckled at that. “A vacation,” he repeated, shaking his head ruefully. It tousled his hair a little, not that Harry noticed or anything. “What the hell do _you_ do for excitement, Potter?”

“Well, I don’t want to brag or anything but I did bring down a building once.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Harry froze on instinct. Something inside him twisted uncomfortably. He had never discussed his dismissal before— not even with Ginny. And yet, it had slipped out. Why? Why had he said it? Why had he _wanted_ to say it?

“And the pieces finally come together,” Draco announced, sounding oddly satisfied. “So that’s what this is about.”

“What?” Harry demanded.

Draco smirked and propped himself up on one arm. The distance between them was practically non-existent now, and Harry was very aware of the slim, toned body lying practically inches away from him. Draco’s shirt was riding up to one side and that certainly didn’t help matters at all. “You,” Draco explained, gesturing vaguely at him. “With your whole ‘I work alone and I don’t need a partner’ shtick. That little screw up really messed you up, eh?”

“It wasn’t a little screw up,” Harry argued vehemently. “I was fresh out of training and on my first real mission as an Auror. I failed. No, ‘fail’ is an understatement. It was a sodding catastrophe. Kingsley nearly did his nut. There were injuries and property damages. The suspects got away. The whole thing went to shite because I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“So they fired you,” Draco surmised. “And you’ve been flying solo ever since.”

Harry sighed. It sounded even sadder when someone else said it. “Something like that.”

He raised an eyebrow at Draco’s dry chuckle. “I have to say I’m disappointed,” he announced. “I expected a lot more from you, Potter. Then again, you do set a certain standard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, feeling somewhat offended at the nonchalance. Really? Was he actually going to sit there and act like this wasn’t a big deal?

“So you brought down a building,” Draco drawled, waving a careless hand. Evidently, he _was_ going to sit there and act like this wasn’t a big deal. “Potter, I’m going to try to put this as nicely as I can. That’s sort of what you do.”

Harry scowled. “Is that right?”

“Well, yes,” Draco laughed. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just your...unique skill-set. Hell, if you want to blame someone, blame the idiot who assigned you an undercover mission in the first place. That’s not your style. And really Potter, that’s okay. It’s just who you are.”

Was it? Harry couldn’t say he agreed. But it was still nice to hear it. He had spent so many days fretting over that damned mission, wondering what went wrong and why it couldn’t have gone differently. Was Malfoy right? Could it really be as simple as that? “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he conceded.

“Trust me,” Draco replied. “When it comes to making stupid, life altering mistakes, I’m something of an expert.” He smiled ruefully and rubbed his arm, right where the Mark would be.

Harry reached out and gripped his wrist. “Don’t,” he said firmly. “If I don’t get to beat myself up, neither do you.”

The soft smile faded into bitterness. “It’s hardly the same thing,” Draco scoffed. “At least you can move on from _your_ stupid mistakes. Me, I had to get mine branded on my arm.”

Harry’s grip tightened when he tried to pull away. His heart clenched when he remembered the Aurors and what Draco had been through tonight. No matter what, that wasn’t going to happen again. Not if he had anything to say about it. Draco had been suffered more than enough for that one horrible decision. And that’s when Harry decided that he had found yet another person to protect. Draco didn’t have to like it— and he probably wouldn’t— but that was the way things were.

“Battle scars,” he said quietly. His hand drifted to his forehead, raking the thin outline of his own legacy. “I accepted mine a long time ago. The past is the past. It’s done with. It’s time to move on. For both of us.”

“You really think it’s that easy?”

“No,” Harry replied. “But I think...I think if we really tried, we could pull this off. I guess what I’m saying is...I’d like to work with you. I don’t think I can do this on my own. If I’m going to have a partner, I’d like it to be you.”

Draco was silent for a beat. Then a slow smirk curved his lips. “Now there’s a speech,” he teased. “You do know how to make a bloke feel special, Harry.”

“Prat,” Harry groused, shoving at him. Something in his gut warmed at the sound of his name from Draco’s lips. It was a small gesture, but it was something.

A truce. An offer. An unspoken agreement.

Maybe having someone in his corner wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all...

“If we’re going to figure this out,” Draco spoke suddenly, pulling him out of his musings, “I want to know what we’re up against. We can’t pretend that all of this is just one big coincidence anymore.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Someone is trying to take Vivian out of the picture,” he agreed. It sounded even worse when he said it out aloud, but those were the cards they’d been dealt. “The question is who. And why?”

Draco’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “I think I know where we might get some answers,” he said finally. “Let’s go find a fireplace.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Confidentiality clause, gentlemen,” Eddie West declared soberly. “If Vivian won’t tell you anything, I definitely can’t. I’m sorry.”

Draco cursed under his breath. Next to him, Harry’s expression tightened. “We’re doing our best here, Mr West,” he said firmly. “But you’re not giving us a whole lot to work with.”

West sighed and ran a tired hand through his receding hairline. “Don’t I know it,” he muttered. “But there you have it. I’m afraid this is the best I can do given the circumstances. Again, you have my sincerest apologies.”

Unfortunately, Draco had no patience for apologies, sincere or otherwise. “Look,” he snapped, levelling a lethal glare at West. “We’re working on a deadline. Whatever is out there isn’t going to stop over a confidentiality clause. Vivian’s life is at stake and if she’s too thick to do anything about it, it makes our job even harder. For Merlin’s sake, at least point us in the right direction!”

“Easy,” Harry murmured, nudging his side. Draco grudgingly subsided, silently giving him the go ahead. This partnership thing was new for him too, but so far Harry had made an effort. He could return the favour at the very least.

“My partner has a point,” Harry told West, affecting a calm but firm tone. “We need answers, Mr West. We don’t care where we get them from. You can’t tell us anything, but you can tell us where to go from here. Please. We’re running out of time.”

They waited with bated breath as West deliberated on that. Draco felt exhausted and wrung out but Harry was a steady, solid presence at his side— quiet, determined and focused. It was calming somehow and it silenced the ringing in his head a bit.

Finally, West reached a decision. “The Warbecks are an old family,” he stated quietly. “And more often than not, they have been in the public eye. There are records and files on nearly everything they do. The information you want definitely exists— if you know where to look for it.”

Things clicked in place. “For Merlin’s sake,” Draco whispered as realisation struck. “Of course!”

Salazar, they had been stupid. Everything they needed had been here the whole time and they hadn’t even thought about it! There was no time to waste anymore. Draco snapped into action.

“Thank you,” he told West. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Good luck,” the man replied. The flames petered out and his face dissolved in the ashes. Draco turned and suppressed a smirk at Harry’s perplexed expression.

“What am I missing?” he asked.

“West is right,” Draco explained with a slight smile. “Old pureblood families put a lot of stock in records. Files, public records, written statements...even newspaper clippings. The Manor had an entire wing dedicated to Malfoy Family History. It was awful.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “How does that help?” he asked. “Even if the Warbecks do have their own records, we don’t know where to look for...”

“Don’t we?” Draco pressed. “Think, Harry. Most pureblood families keep their records in the ancestral home. It’s the base for the family so it’s the most sensible place to put them. But the Warbecks don’t have an ancestral home, do they? They’re a family of famous performers— people of the stage. The stage _is_ their ancestral home. So where would they keep their family records? Where’s the one place their family history would be accessible but safe? What is their base?”

He thought he saw the exact moment understanding dawned on Harry’s uncomprehending face. He sagged against the wall. “Godric, we’re stupid,” he groaned in dismay. “Of course they’re in that bleeding Concert Hall!”

Draco nodded. “And we’re going to get them,” he declared. This was it. They were finally going to figure this out. Excitement thrummed in his veins. Finally, some action...

“How?” Harry asked. “Those files are probably secured. You said it yourself. How are we going to...”

He trailed off as Draco’s lips curved into a smirk. “Up for a little breaking and entering, Potter?”

 

* * *

 

 

“So we’re really doing this?” Harry asked doubtfully as they crept onto the lawn. “We’re actually going to break into this place?” In all honesty, it was probably a dumb question. They had just dismantled the wards and placed a mild Confundus on the guard. Still, it was a touch hard to believe.

“Less talking, more walking,” Draco whispered back as he slid on ahead. He slipped through the gardens easily, keeping to the shadows and making his way with sure, silent footsteps. Harry had to admit he was impressed. Draco was made to work undercover. He was lithe and agile, silent and surefooted as a cat. Harry felt rather clumsy in comparison.

“How are we getting in?” he asked. “We sure as hell can’t walk through the front door.”

Draco had an answer for that too. “There are four exits on each side of the building— corresponding with the gates. The East, West and North doors are secured. One or two guards per entrance, I think. But the South gate is at the back and mostly used as a service entrance.  My guess is it’s not secured. At best, there will be a Locking Charm on the door. It’s our best bet.”

 “How the hell do you know this stuff?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Perimeter check,” Draco retorted impatiently. “Honestly, your observation skills are practically nonexistent. It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Potter.”

Harry gaped, not entirely sure if he should feel offended or flattered. There was no time for either. They were here now, and time was of the essence.

“After you,” Draco said, stepping back obligingly.

Harry raised his wand and got to work. Draco was right. His Detection Spells showed no activity or movement behind the door, and the Locking Charm was laughably easy to dismantle. The Auror in him reared disapprovingly at such a blatant blind spot in the security plan. But at least it made their job easier. “Come on then,” Harry whispered. “We still need to find the records and Merlin knows they could be anywhere.”

“This way,” Draco muttered, padding on ahead into the darkness. “Keep your eyes peeled. We’re looking for a library or an archive, most likely.”

“Probably a corner office on the higher levels,” Harry put in. That seemed the most logical place to keep a giant stack of paperwork. Silently, they made their way through the hall and up the staircase.

Unfortunately, they were out of luck. Try as they might, the records remained elusive. Draco cursed and paused his search on the first floor for a second. “We should have done more research on the floor plans,” he grumbled. “We could be here for days and not find a damn thing!”

“Or...” Harry mused thoughtfully. It was worth a shot. He slipped back into the main hallway, Draco following close. Celestina smiled from her gilded frame and blew him a kiss.

“Hi again,” Harry greeted pleasantly.

Draco gaped at them, seemingly at a loss for words. “You have got to be kidding,” he declared.

Harry shushed him with a poke in the ribs before turning back to the portrait. “We need your help. Can you tell us where the family records are?”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him.

“Please,” Harry implored. “It’s important.”

Draco had evidently just reached the limit of his suspension of disbelief. “You can’t seriously think she knows where...”

 

_How much is that Crup in the window?_

_The one with two waggley tails_

_How much is that Crup in the window_

_I do hope that Crup is for sale._

“Oh, come on,” Draco groaned. “That’s not even your song!”

Harry ignored him and racked his brains. A window? Well, that wasn’t very helpful. This place probably had a thousand windows. Which one did she mean?

Although, now that he thought about it there was that...

“I know where to go,” he declared suddenly. “Come on!”

“How?” Draco demanded. “You couldn’t possibly have figured it out from that load of...”

“She mentioned a window. There’s a huge stained glass mural overlooking the main hall. And I’m pretty sure there’s a room up there. That’s our best bet.”

“Oh, sure,” Draco grumbled. “If the dead woman in the painting says so...”

Nevertheless, he followed without further protests. They tracked their way up the stairs again, making for the highest floor in the complex. The moment they came across the mural, Harry knew this was it.

“What did I tell you?” he asked Draco smugly, prying the majestic door open. It creaked loudly in the silence. Harry winced when Draco nudged him sharply in the ribs.

“Keep it down,” he whispered furiously. “Are you trying to get the entire night guard up here?”

Harry scowled at him and rubbed his side. “Is this how you treat all your partners?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re pretty then,” Harry belted back at once. He had to bite back a chuckle when Draco fixed him with a flat, annoyed expression and shouldered past him in a huff. Despite his bizarre circumstances, he was actually rather amused. Bickering with Draco had always had its charms, after all. His thoughts trailed off as he entered the room and his attention was immediately snapped up by something else.

“Nice tree,” Harry commented, looking for the ornate black and gold motif. The family tree covered more than half the wall, fanning out with branches in every direction. “Oi, Draco. Take a look at this.”

“It’s the Warbeck Family Tree,” Draco explained distractedly, looking over a shelf of scrolls. “All the old families have them. Harry, we don’t have time for sightseeing. Look for relevant documents. We don’t know how long we have before the guards...”

“That’s Celestina,” Harry murmured, trailing his finger across a golden branch on the far left. “And there’s Vivian right below her. And Paris is...”

Wait. He glanced at Vivian’s branch again and his brow furrowed. That black splotch right next to her name...Harry recognized that. He had seen the same burn markings on the Black Family Tree years ago. Someone had been cut out.

“This is weird,” Harry muttered. “Hey, Vivian was married, right?”

Draco shrugged, still distracted by the scrolls. “Paris had to come from somewhere. Harry, come on. We don’t have time to...”

“I really think you need to see this,” Harry insisted, still staring at the burned off spot on the map. There was a name under the charred mess. Lee, maybe? Leo?

“What?” Draco demanded impatiently, coming over as well and peering over Harry’s shoulder. “What am I looking at?”

“Right here,” Harry said, pointing out the spot. “Why is Vivian’s...whoever this is...burnt off?”

Draco peered thoughtfully at the dark smear. “An ex husband, probably. She’s not exactly the ‘forgive and forget’ type, is she? My guess is the former Mr Vivian Warbeck fooled around with a groupie and got kicked to the curb.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Damn, I sure wouldn’t want to be old Leo...” He trailed off abruptly. Harry stared as Draco’s smile faded and a flicker of anxiety crept into his eyes. “Wait a minute,” he said, taking a step towards the map. “That name.”

“What about it?” Harry demanded, edging over as well.

“I think I’ve heard it before,” Draco muttered, squinting at the map. “I can swear it sounds familiar...”

“Where? When did you...”

“I’m thinking!” Draco snapped, fumbling with his wand. “Stupid thing’s all burned off. I think I can figure out the rest with an Indentation Spell.”

“Then do it quickly,” Harry urged him. “I think I hear voices.” A knot of anxiety tightened in his gut. He could definitely hear faint voices now, shuffling of footsteps up the stairs. It must be the night guards doing their rounds. If they found out someone else was here, things would get very bad, very fast.

“Draco, hurry,” Harry hissed urgently. “They’re coming.”

“Just a second,” Draco mumbled, evidently caught up with the spell casting. Harry ground his teeth in frustration, torn between grabbing his partner and making a break for it, and holding his ground and solving this infuriating mystery. But he could definitely hear the voices now, getting louder and closer. There was no more time to waste.

“We have to go,” Harry said, grabbing his arm.

“I got it!” Draco exclaimed triumphantly. “It’s...”

“Oi!” a third voice barked out, loud and angry. “This door is open! I told you I heard voices.”

Shite. 

“Shite,” Draco echoed.

Harry reacted on instinct. He grabbed Draco and dragged him into a dark corner, casting a hasty Notice Me Not Charm. Just in time as it turned out because the next second the door flew open. Two men barged in, wands held up. They took a long, hard look around. Harry held his breath, only vaguely aware of Draco doing the exact same thing beside him. Impulsively he tightened his grip on Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. His fingers clenched against Draco’s shirt as the tension hung thick in the air. The guards crept in, wary and alert. If they decided to use a Detection Spell, all would be lost. 

“Nothing,” one of them finally declared. He sighed and dropped his wand. “Been at the pixie dust again, Barney?”

“I’m telling you I heard something,” Barney protested indignantly. “And why’s the door open, huh?”

“Probably because you forgot to lock it again,” the other surmised, smacking his colleague upside the head. “What’s the matter with you? Aren’t enough weird things happening here already?”

“Don’t even start,” Barney grumbled. “Falling spotlights and the like— I should have taken my old man’s advice and joined the Aurors.”

Draco scoffed soundlessly at that. Harry jabbed him in the ribs again. Fortunately, Barney and company were done. They took one more round of the room and promptly left, placing a Locking Charm on the door as they departed.

The silence settled again, only broken by faint footsteps retreating from their hiding spot. Harry sighed in relief and dropped the Charm. “Thank Merlin,” he whispered, sagging into the wall. That was too close for comfort. His pulse was still racing and his head felt heavy. Breaking and entering, honestly. And to think he’d expected this to be a dull job...

“Harry?” Draco’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“I...that is...you can let go now.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he realised he was still crowding Draco into the wall. His partner fidgeted uncomfortably in the cramped space, caught— quite literally— between Harry and a hard place. For a second, Harry was frozen in place. His throat ran dry as Draco’s body shifted against his own. Now that it was out there, he was very aware of how close they were. In fact, he could feel the jut of a prominent hipbone against his...

Harry sprang back so quickly he nearly fell over. “Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to ignore the damned flush rising to his cheeks. “I was just...I mean...”

“Not a problem,” Draco replied, averting his gaze as he edged away. If Harry didn’t know better, he would swear Draco was blushing as well. Then again, it was dark in here. Besides, since when did Draco Malfoy blush over anything?

“We should...” he began uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” Draco muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You work on dismantling that Locking Charm. I’m going to grab those files over there. We’ll go around the back and head out the West Gate. Sounds good?”

Harry nodded hastily and went to work on the door. And if he fumbled a bit because he was still thinking about Draco’s hipbones, nobody could prove a thing.

 

* * *

**A few days later:**

 

After that night, school was officially in session. Draco was practically getting by on two hours of sleep a day. By unspoken agreement, they fell into a seamless working pattern. During the day, Harry kept a close watch on Vivian and Draco spent every waking moment around Paris. Sleep was duly forgotten as they spent the nights doing research.

“Blaise dug up another article from the _Prophet_ ,” Draco said, suppressing a yawn and rearranging his notes again. It was late and he was pretty sure the only thing keeping them going now was Harry’s wretched black coffee. “More trash about Paris in Skeeter’s column.”

Harry nodded and made a note on the whiteboard he had acquired from Merlin knows where. Draco’s eyes drifted across the squiggles and arrows— connections crisscrossed all over the board between three names written in dark, bold letters. Vivian. Paris.

And now, Leonard Skiver.

“I’m guessing he put his two Knuts in there as well?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “Listen to this: _Vivian is not a good parent. She’s a bad influence on that sweet little girl and this is solid proof of that. If I was in the picture, the poor kid wouldn’t act out like this. It’s a cry for help._ ” He sneered and tossed the scrap of paper away, watching thoughtfully as it fluttered to the floor. “Talk about selling yourself short.”

“He is laying it on pretty thick,” Harry remarked. “It just doesn’t add up. Why go after them now? Why the sudden interest in a daughter he hasn’t bothered with in years?”

“More like desperation,” Draco countered. “He cornered her in the street a few days ago. The poor kid was really shaken up.” The second the Indentation Spell had revealed Leonard’s name, that day had come flying back to him— the anger and fear in Paris’s eyes, Leonard’s coy cajoling, that shifty expression that just reeked of insincerity. Draco bristled defensively at the memory. He really should have pounded the bastard into the pavement. If he had, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this.

Harry abandoned the board and sat down next to him. “You really should have told me about that sooner,” he said, almost kindly.

Draco shrugged wearily. “She made me swear not to say anything. I should have, I know. But I just...didn’t. She was scared. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

He started when Harry’s arm wrapped around him. “You care about her,” he said. His voice was soothing to Draco’s frayed mind and without putting too much thought into it, he found himself leaning into Harry’s broader frame. A set of strong, calloused fingers drifted to his hair, playing gently with the strands. When had they become this comfortable with each other, Draco wondered. It was amazing what a few sleepless nights could do.

“I can’t let him hurt her,” Draco said in the silence. “He wants to. I don’t know why or how but I just can’t...”

“He won’t,” Harry cut in firmly, squeezing his shoulders again. “We won’t let him.”

“You don’t know that,” Draco replied quietly. “He came pretty close. Merlin knows what will happen if I mess up one more time.”

“Is that the way you see it?” Harry sounded genuinely surprised. “Hell, I thought I was hard on myself.” He smiled when Draco turned to give him an enquiring look. “Draco, you’re the only thing that’s held him back at all. You’ve kept that kid safe against all odds. Honestly? I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t around.”

Draco stared in stunned silence. A part of him instinctively wanted to refute that claim but Harry was looking at him with such sincere, green eyes. His expression was stoic and determined and for once in his life, the last thing Draco wanted to do was argue with the man. Damn, if Potter made a habit of saying things like that, there were going to be some very pertinent changes to Draco’s world view.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, averting his gaze from those intense, green eyes. “But we still don’t know anything that could help us.”

Harry sighed, apparently agreeing with that morbid assessment. “Well, what do we know? We know that Leonard Skiver has developed a sudden interest in the Warbecks— enough to come halfway across the world to accost them, apparently.”

“Vivian was almost killed twice this week,” Draco contributed. “You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed doubtfully. “But we still don’t have a motive. Why would he attack her?”

“Extortion?”

Harry shook his head. “No demands were made, not even once. Whoever went after Vivian just wanted her out of the way. It doesn’t add up. Even if he does hold a grudge against his ex wife...”

True. Draco sighed wearily. Every lead was a dead end. And then, a sudden thought struck him. What if...? Draco sat up abruptly. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“What if it’s not about Vivian at all?”

Harry sat up too. “Go on.”

Draco got up to pace. “Think about it. First there were all those snide little remarks to Skeeter— all that rot about Paris needing a strong father figure and the like. Why do that? It’s like he was angling for custody.”

“Alright,” Harry acquiesced. “Let’s roll with that for now. What next?”

“But see, Vivian left suddenly,” Draco went on. He was talking faster now, matching his racing thoughts with every footstep. “She decided to cut him off at his game and run away with Paris in tow. Skiver wasn’t going to let that happen. No, he was desperate enough to follow them here. Desperate enough to make two attempts on Vivian’s life to get her out of the picture. And that’s not all. He planned the whole thing down to the last detail. First that spotlight nearly flattened her. Then someone attacked you and put you out of commission. The Aurors who went after me said they were acting on an ‘anonymous tip’. And Skiver...Skiver saw the Mark on my arm when we were brawling on the street the day before. I’ll bet you anything he put those Aurors on our tail.” It was adding up. It was finally coming together. Draco inhaled sharply and ricocheted around the room, pulling at every string of thought as he tried to piece the picture together. “Harry, these are the actions of a desperate man. He wants Vivian out of his way, and apparently he doesn’t mind resorting to murder to make it happen. Because...because if _she’s_ gone...”

“He gets custody of Paris,” Harry finished. A sick feeling settled in his stomach.

Draco nodded grimly. “Paris,” he agreed. “It all comes down to her.”

“And what could he want from her?” Harry asked.

Wasn’t that the question of the day. Draco racked his brains for something that would fit. “She’s sixteen,” he said thoughtfully. It was a rather long shot, but he couldn’t think of anything else. “She’ll be of age in less than a year. Does that tell us anything?”

Harry frowned. “Not really. Once she’s of age, she won’t legally require a parent’s consent for anything. Practically speaking, it doesn’t make any sense for Skiver to hit for custody now.”

That was true. Skiver would gain nothing from that. Unless Paris had something he could get now, while she was still a child and legally bound to her parents...

...and that’s when it all came together. Draco’s eyes widened and he sat back down. “Of course,” he whispered.

“What?”

It was so damn simple! Draco could have kicked himself. “Inheritance,” he said. The words seemed to echo in the sudden silence. “Pureblood families often have trust funds and accounts set up for the heir of the fortune. I’ll bet you anything Paris has one and she’ll get it on her seventeenth birthday. But until then...”

“Her parents control it,” Harry finished immediately. “Or in this case, one parent— the parent who’s legally responsible for her.”

“Salazar,” Draco groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “So that’s it.”

“It’s the best explanation,” Harry agreed, looking none too happy about it. “But murder?”

“He could be in debt,” Draco surmised. “People do drastic things given the right persuasion.” The thought of what Skiver had almost done made his fists clench. “That son of a bitch. I should have broken his leg when I had the damn chance.”

Harry sighed and shook his head. Should have, could have, would have...it was all a moot point now. “We need to talk to Vivian,” he said. “We have to make her see sense. If she goes to the Aurors, they could stop...”

Draco shook his head. “We don’t have a shred of evidence. You know how the DMLE works. They’re not going to arrest Skiver on pure speculation.”

“But...” Harry trailed off wearily. Draco had a point. That _was_ how the DMLE worked. Neville might believe them, but as Head Auror he had to follow certain procedures. Without evidence, his hands were tied. And if their last experience with the Aurors here was anything to go by, that lot would be perfectly useless too.

“Face it.” Draco’s tired voice broke the silence. “We’re in this alone. Either we stop him, or no one does.”

There was a tense silence as they processed that. Finally, Harry reached out and held his hand. Calloused, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist— firm and reassuring. “We’re not alone,” Harry corrected. “We’re a team, remember? And I promise you, we’ll fix this together. Skiver doesn’t have a prayer.”

A team. Draco smiled at the thought. He was part of a team.

“I trust you.”

The words were out there before he knew it. Draco stilled as Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. But there it was. He had said it. And he wouldn’t take it back even if he could.

Harry’s grip tightened a fraction and a small smile played on his lips. “You know something?” he said softly. “When I’m with you...I trust me too.” Before Draco could even take a moment to register that simple yet wonderfully baffling declaration, Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Get some rest. I have a feeling we’re going to need it tomorrow.”

One would think he’d be used to Harry’s blatant honesty by now and yet once again, Draco found that he had nothing clever to say. So he did the sensible thing, mumbled something unintelligible about it being late and slipped under his covers. When he finally closed his eyes it was to the comforting sound of Harry’s peaceful breathing and his solid, reassuring presence in the next bed over. Draco smiled and slept peacefully all through the night.

 

* * *

 

 

It turned out, Harry was right.

By mutual agreement, they’d agreed that telling Vivian what they’d discovered was the best possible course of action. Shockingly, she did not take it very well.

“You went through my personal records?!” she screeched. “How _dare_ you? What gives you the right to...”

“We had no choice,” Harry broke in. Frankly, he had had it with the woman’s stubbornness. More than half this mess could have been avoided if she had just told them what they needed to know. “We’ve been flying blind ever since this whole thing started. Honestly, we’ve just been damned lucky to have made it as far as we did. At least now we know...”

“What?” Vivian demanded. “What do you _know?_ You come to me with this ridiculous tale and expect me to believe that Leonard, of all people, is responsible for...”

“It’s true,” Draco snapped. He had been on the sidelines until now, watching as Harry and Vivian had at it. Paris shifted uncomfortably next to him and Draco nudged her forward gently. She turned to cast a half hearted glare in his direction but he met her gaze head on. “If you don’t tell her, I’ll have to.”

Vivian’s expression went from furious to anxious in a split second. “What?” she demanded of her daughter. “What is he talking about?”

Paris sighed and her slim shoulder sagged. “Leonard is here. He cornered me the other day.”

“What?” Vivian’s shocked whisper cut through the silence like a knife. The worry intensified, morphing into fleeting panic. “He...he’s here? In New York?” She all but ran to her daughter’s side and placed her hands on Paris’s shoulders, all but shaking the younger girl. “What did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Tell me!”

“I’m fine,” Paris reported quietly. “He didn’t get a chance to...that is, Draco took care of it. He ran off and we haven’t seen him since.”

Mentioning Draco sent Vivian in a rage all over again. “You!” she snarled, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Draco’s mouth twisted but he didn’t refute the accusation. It only made Vivian angrier. “You knew he was here and you didn’t tell me! I knew it was a mistake to hire you! How much did he pay you to keep your mouth shut? Once a criminal, always a...”

“Stop it!” Paris snapped. “I asked him not to tell you. I knew you’d behave like this and I’m sick of it!”

“And for good reason,” Vivian informed her angrily. “You have no idea how bad this situation is! Leonard is dangerous and...and how he’s here and...oh Merlin...”

Harry exchanged a weary look with Draco as Vivian sat back on the couch. She buried her face in her slim hands, taking deep shuddering breaths. Draco shrugged and gestured at her, implying that Harry should do something. Harry sighed heavily and approached, taking a seat next to the trembling woman. “Vivian, I know this is hard for you. But this situation is out of control. Leonard Skiver is here and you’ve nearly been killed twice. We would be fools to write off either fact to coincidence.”

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “He’s always been a cruel, heartless wretch but I never thought he’d...”

Harry felt a slight twinge of sympathy for her. “I’m sorry,” he replied, as sincerely as he could. “But it’s how things are right now. Right now, we have to focus on keeping you and Paris safe. Call the tour off. We’ll get you back in England first thing tomorrow and the Aurors will take it from there. It’s the only way.” He shared a brief, regretful look with Draco. It would be hard walking away from their mission like this, but enough was enough. Even if the Aurors wouldn’t arrest Skiver without evidence, they could at least provide a higher level of security. It was a whole lot more than a couple of bodyguards could offer.

“Mum,” Paris said, approaching Vivian cautiously. “What are we going to do?”

Vivian removed her face from her hands, wiping her eyes. But when she turned to face her daughter, there was stubborn, unyielding determination in her expression. “ _We_ are going to do nothing,” she said firmly. “I’ll take care of this.”

“But...”

Vivian got up abruptly and started to pace. “I’m not running away from him,” she said firmly. “Not again.”

“What?” Harry blurted.

Vivian whirled around to face him. “Our two weeks in New York are nearly up. The last performance is tomorrow. We’ll leave for California and hopefully, he won’t follow us there.”

“Are you insane?” Draco spat. “Have you heard nothing we’ve said? This man is trying to kill you!”

Vivian’s glare flickered a bit but quickly turned stony and unyielding again. “Let him try,” she repeated firmly. “I am not running away from this. Not anymore.”

Draco’s glare intensified. “And what about Paris?” he asked coldly. “What if he comes after her?”

She was silent for a moment. Her gaze shifted to her daughter and for a second, Harry thought her eyes softened. Finally, she took a deep breath as if bracing for impact and made the announcement. “Paris won’t be accompanying us to performances anymore,” she said. “Starting tomorrow, she’s spending every single waking moment in her room with the door locked.”

“What?” Paris shrieked, standing up abruptly. “Are you crazy?! _This_ is your brilliant plan?!”

“Paris, be reasonable,” Vivian insisted. “I don’t like it anymore than you do but we have no choice. We’ll get you twenty four hour security the second we get home, but until then this is the best way to keep Leonard away from you.”

Paris seemed on the verge of throwing things around. Harry couldn’t really say he blamed her. “Let me see if I understand this,” she practically hissed. “You want me to spend the _rest of my life_ locked away because _he_ is out there. That’s it. No discussion, no alternatives, you’re not even going to ask me how _I_ want to handle this. You’re just going to go ahead and decide that this is how things are going to be from now on. Is that right?”

Vivian sighed heavily. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m only trying to keep you safe. I promise it will get better some day but for now....”

“I know,” Paris cut in quietly. “That’s what you always say.”

“Paris,” Vivian murmured, sounding tired and helpless. “Please.”

Another beat of silence. Harry’s eyes drifted from Paris—angry and helpless as only a teenager could look— to Vivian— torn between comforting her child and doing what she had to. Draco just looked frustrated beyond belief and when he returned Harry’s gaze the message was clear: _This is a very bad idea._

Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

Mercifully, Paris decided to relent for the time being. She sighed and offered a grudging nod of acquiescence. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll stay put. But on one condition.”

Vivian cocked an enquiring eyebrow and Paris took this as an invitation to lay down her demands. “I’ll stay here and be good,” she promised. “If you take Draco with you to the concert.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. That was almost too easy. “Draco can accompany Vivian,” he agreed at once. “I’ll stay here and...”

Paris shook her head. “Both of you go with her,” she explains firmly. “Mum needs you there too. Leonard’s got it in for her.”

“No.” Draco vetoed the idea at once. “We leave you unguarded and that’s exactly the kind of opening he’s looking for.” His grey eyes flew to Harry at once, demanding support. But Paris was already talking again, seemingly leaving no room for argument.

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll be in a hotel room. Nothing will get past the front desk. But Mum’s going to be on stage, out in the open. She’s practically got a target painted on her back.”

Vivian bit her lip doubtfully. “Paris, we can’t just...”

“It’s this or no deal,” Paris said firmly. “I’m not afraid of Leonard. But I am afraid _for_ you.”

There’s tense silence for a minute or two. Harry went over the whole thing in his head, twice for good measure. Paris made a good point. If this was Leonard’s last shot, he would probably take it. It would be prudent to have Draco there. But leaving Paris alone...?

“Alright,” Vivian agreed finally, oh so reluctantly. “But you promise me you won’t set one foot outside that room. I’m trusting you, Paris. Please don’t do anything rash.”

“I promise,” Paris replied. “I won’t run off. But I just want you to know... I’m not going to live like this. Not forever.”

“You won’t have to,” Vivian replied softly. “I’ll take care of this, sweetheart. Just...give me some time, please.”

Paris smiled thinly. Harry noticed she made no promises. But it was too late to back down now. This was as good as it was going to get. And if there was a chance they could apprehend Skiver...

“Well, that’s settled then,” he acquiesced, ignoring Draco’s scowl of displeasure. His partner seemed more than a little unhappy about this arrangement, but he didn’t argue. Harry didn’t blame him. Something in his gut told him this was not the best idea in the world.

But in the end and as per usual, their options were limited.

 

* * *

 

Paris left shortly afterwards, all but fleeing from her mother’s rooms. She hadn’t said much since the house arrest verdict had been passed. She just sat there in silence— barely listening as Vivian deemed the matter settled and moved on to more important matters. Draco watched her every move, the disconcerting feeling in his gut growing with every second. When Paris got up abruptly and asked to be excused, he shot Harry a look and followed her out.

“Kid.”

She didn’t stop. Draco groaned and quickened his footsteps, catching up to her without much effort. “Come on, Paris” he tried. “I’m not happy about this either, but can we just talk?” She was still ignoring him, the stubborn little brat. Finally, Draco took a chance and caught her arm, pulling her to a stop gently.

“Stop it,” he chided, when she scowled at him and tried to pull away. “Just wait a second and listen to me, yeah?”

“Why bother?” she demanded. “What does it matter what I think about this? I’m getting locked up either way so don’t waste your breath.”

Draco bit down on his urge to snap at her, to tell her she was being irrational. She was. But she was also sixteen. Sixteen and scared and having her entire existence micromanaged at the whims of a behind-the-scenes maniac. It sounded eerily familiar when he put it like that. The point was, if _he_ couldn’t empathise with her situation, who would?

“Believe it or not, I get how you feel,” he offered finally. Paris scoffed disbelievingly and he ignored it. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. If I had my way, you wouldn’t have a reason to hide from him. You know that. But the truth is you’re just not safe out there. Not yet. I told you once that I’d do whatever it takes to protect you. I still stand by that. Just...please, give me a little time. Can you do that?”

She looked at him and an odd expression flitted across her face. A blend of anger, fear and sheer weariness... it was gone in a split second, but Draco all but memorized it in his mind’s eye. She shouldn’t look like that— this bright young child who had done nothing to deserve this. If there was a way to spare her this...but there wasn’t. Not today. However, if they managed to nab Skiver...

“Just hang in there,” Draco whispered, pulling her in for a quick hug. “I’ve got your back, kid. I’ll fix this, I swear.”

She held herself stiffly at first, but then two slim arms wrapped around him, returning the hug. Draco smiled and gave her another gentle squeeze before releasing her. “I have to go,” he said. Harry and Vivian would want to see him. If Skiver struck tonight— and there was a good chance he would— they would need a plan.

“Would you run?”

Draco stopped in his tracks and turned around. Paris held his gaze steadily. “If it was you, would you run or would you fight to take control of your life?” she asked again. He had no answer for that and she knew it. A thin smile curved her lips at his silence. “That’s what I thought,” she said, before turning her back on him and disappearing into her room.

Draco sighed again and turned to leave as well. He had a bad feeling about this, but they had done all they could. He could only hope for the best.

 

* * *

**The night of the Last Concert:**

 

“It will be over soon,” Harry said as he made his way through Celestina Warbeck Concert Hall for the last time. “After tonight, it’ll all be over.”

Draco nodded grimly and swept the grounds with another Tracking Charm. “One way or another,” he agreed. He started in surprise when Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him to a halt.

“Don’t talk like that,” his partner admonished. “If he’s here, we’ll find him and bring him down before he gets to Vivian. That’s the only way this ends.”

Draco sighed, wishing he could share the confidence. “I’m worried,” he admitted. “Paris is all alone, and we haven’t found a thing. Who’s to say Skiver is even here? I just have a rotten feeling about this.”

Harry squeezed his shoulders gently, turning him around. “I put the wards around Paris’s room myself. She’s safe. No one gets in without a room key. And she promised not to go out on her own.”

Draco nodded uneasily. In the end, they had decided that locking the kid in a room was just cruel. Paris had looked so miserable that Draco just couldn’t go through with it. Naturally, Vivian had thrown a bitch fit but with three against one and only forty five minutes to the concert, she had grudgingly relented. As long as nobody else got in and Paris didn’t leave, it would be alright. Still, the feelings lingered and try though he might, Draco couldn’t get rid of it.

“Let’s find Vivian,” he decided finally. “If I have to do another ground check I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, turning around to walk alongside him. “She’s still in the dressing room, but we should probably stick close just in...”

He stopped suddenly. Draco jerked to a halt beside him, startling at the abrupt halt. “What...”

“Something’s wrong,” Harry said.

Draco’s blood ran cold. This was it. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Look.”

He followed Harry’s glance to the wall in front of them. For a second, Draco wasn’t sure what he was looking for. And then he saw it.

“Shite,” he whispered.

Celestina’s portraits were frozen. Draco stared in shock at the still frames. Those lively dark eyes that had followed them around from every portrait were still and staring dead ahead. No movement, no lilting voice, just nothing. But why? Why would anyone go to the trouble of freezing every single portrait in this place? The explanation came to him almost at once,

“He must have figured it out,” Draco said, approaching the portrait and casting a Detection Spell. Definitely a Charm...probably cast about two or three hours ago, if his guess was accurate. Draco cursed under his breath.

“He knew she’s been looking out for us,” Harry agreed grimly. “Probably froze her while we were on the grounds so she couldn’t warn us.”

Draco’s attention snapped back and he whirled around to face his partner. “Warn us about what?” he demanded.

Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him along, running towards Vivian’s dressing room. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “But I have a bad feeling we’re going to find out.”

“Harry.” Draco could feel the tremor in his voice. “Harry, I smell smoke.”

Oh _god._

They skidded to a halt right outside the dressing room. A crowd was already outside, milling about in complete confusion. And the smoke...oh, there was definitely smoke. Thick, black fumes were seeping in from behind the door. Draco’s eyes stung and he had to grab Harry’s arm again as they jostled their way through the group of hysterical, panicky stage aides.

“We came to see what was taking her so long,” one of the girls babbled, wringing her hands. “We can’t get the door open! She’s been in there for fifteen minutes now, maybe more!”

Harry cursed and shoved past her, scanning the door with his wand. “Locking Charm,” he told Draco tersely. “Not a standard one either. It’s a Grade Four— Gringotts uses it for the high security vaults.” He swore and rammed his fist in the door. “The fucker did his research. This will take me ten minutes to dismantle!”

“We don’t have ten minutes!” the girl shrieked, absolutely panic stricken. “She’ll suffocate!”

“We know!” Draco snapped. “Get the Aurors down here, and a Healer! We’ll get her out. Go!”

She ran off and Harry turned to Draco. “Tell me you have a plan.”

Draco racked his brains. The door was out of the question. It would take too long and Skiver had probably reinforced it for good measure. And if she had been in there for fifteen minutes, Vivian could very well be dead by now. Whatever they did, they’d have to do it fast.

“The wall,” Draco decided finally. “We’ll have to blast the wall apart.” Skiver may have spell-proofed the door but the walls might still be accessible. At any rate, they had to try. It was their only hope.

Harry didn’t think so. He shook his head vehemently. “It’s too risky. We blast that wall and we risk burying her. Hell, the whole building might come down on us.”

“Harry, there’s no other way!”

“There has to be!” Harry snapped. “I thought you were all for the subtle approach.”

“Not this time. Sometimes, you have to take a shot.”

“But...”

“This is what you do, remember?” Draco cut in. There was a quiet conviction in his voice, underlined by desperate impatience. “Harry, you’ve got this. I trust you. You can _do_ this.”

Harry disagreed completely. He had done this before and it hadn’t ended well at all. But Draco was right. It was this or nothing. Harry looked at his partner, trying to draw strength from Draco’s confidence in him. “Okay,” he said finally, trying not to choke on his words. “Let’s take a shot.”

As one, they cast a Blasting Hex. The wall crumbled and practically flew apart. Harry pulled Draco down alongside him, shielding them from the worst of the impact. Concrete and plaster flew past them, but thankfully the structure held. Thick, venomous smoke billowed out of the opening, stinging their throats and their eyes as they stumbled forward.

“There!” Draco yelled, pointing at the limp figure on the floor. “Get her out! Get her out now!” 

Harry wasted no time in running in and gathering Vivian up. She shuddered and coughed in his arms, pale and half dressed. She was barely alive and Harry fought a wave of nausea as he half carried, half dragged her to safety.

“Is she breathing?” Draco demanded, helping him set Vivian down on the floor. “Sit her up. She has to...”

Vivian’s eyes flew open and she sucked in a huge wave of air. Her panicked, tear filled gaze skittered around the room, finally landing on them. “Smoke,” she choked out. “Everywhere...he...he tried to...”

“It’s over,” Draco reassured her. “Just relax. You need a Healer. They’re coming.”

Vivian clasped a hand to her mouth, her entire body seizing up in dry heaves. It took a while to calm her down. “He tried to kill me,” she whispered dazedly. “I didn’t think...I didn’t want to think he’d...”

“He did,” Draco said quietly.

She broke down in quiet sobs. Draco exchanged a glance with Harry and shifted uncomfortably. “One of us should go investigate before the Aurors come and mess things up,” he suggested quietly. “Go. I’ll stay here with her.”

Harry nodded soberly and got up, slipping back in the room. He suppressed a wince as he looked over the chaos. The smoke was clearing up, making it easier to see. He noted the knocked over table, the ripped curtains. Vivian probably ripped them apart in panicked desperation. Harry shuddered. The very idea of her, choking and screaming for help and trapped in this airless prison...it nearly made him sick. It was just such a sick, twisted way to end someone’s life. What kind of person would stoop to...?

And then a thought struck him. It _was_ a sick way to kill someone. But was it really effective? Harry frowned and considered the possibilities. As far as he could tell, there was no fire. The smoke had been magically induced— designed to kill, but slowly. Had Skiver been that confident in his ability to kill? Fiendfyre would have spelled an instantaneous death for his ex wife. He had to know that. Instead, he had given her ample time to scream for help, to escape, to raise a complete hue and cry. And she had. By the time Harry and Draco had made it back, half the concert staff was already at the door trying to get her out.

And there was something else. So far, Skiver had gone for a sudden death approach— the broken spotlight, the knife. Sure, quick, decisive hits that would have killed her in a split second. This...slow death shtick wasn’t his MO. So why go through with it? Why not an Unforgivable?

Unless...unless he hadn’t been _trying_ to kill her this time. Harry stopped in his tracks. What if tonight wasn’t about Vivian at all? Maybe he just needed her out of the way. Maybe he just needed Draco and Harry out of the way while he...

“No,” Harry whispered. “Oh Merlin, no...”

They had been tricked. This whole thing was a set up. His scans confirmed the ominous theory. Two spells had been cast in the room— one for the smoke, and the other to keep the door locked. There was a third Charm too— an Activation ward, designed to set the other spells off as soon as Vivian entered the room and shut the door. And they had been cast _last night_.

Harry’s breath came out in a shudder as the pieces came together. Skiver wasn’t here at all. No, he had planned this perfectly. With one simple diversion, he had distracted them— kept them busy, trying to extricate Vivian from this mess. And with all of them out of the way, he finally had the chance and the perfect opportunity to acquire his actual target.

  _Paris._

Harry could have kicked himself for being so stupid. They had played right into the bastard’s hands. They had given him exactly what he wanted. They had practically delivered Paris to him, and if he found a way to get past the wards to her room...

Draco. He had to find Draco. There was no time to waste.

“Harry?”

Draco abandoned Vivian and the Healers as soon as Harry was in sight. He approached quickly, his frown deepening as he saw the look on Harry’s face.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

It was more of a statement than a question.

Harry nodded. “We’ve been played.”

Draco’s eyes clouded over. In a split second, his expression went back to neutral professionalism but there was no mistaking the flicker of sheer panic in his eyes.

“Go,” Harry urged. “I’ll get Vivian there. Just...promise me, you won’t do anything stupid until I get there, yeah?”

Draco didn’t. He just managed a shaky half-nod before tearing off towards the Floo. Harry watched him go, anxiety and despair warring inside him in equal measure. But there was no time for either right now. Gently, he coaxed Vivian up, assured the Healers that she was fine now and managed to get her through the Floo.

The journey back barely registered, and he couldn’t bring himself to answer Vivian’s dazed, frantic questions. There was no telling what they’d find back at the hotel. All he could do was pray that Draco and Paris would be there waiting for them. And Harry did. He prayed with all his heart that once, just this once, everything would turn out alright.

It wasn’t.

Draco was in Paris’s room when they barged in. The place was pristine, just as they had left it. There was no sign of a violent abduction. Harry was almost starting to hope, and then he saw the strained, hollow look on Draco’s face.

“She’s gone,” he announced quietly. “I scanned the whole floor. She’s not in the hotel. She’s not even anywhere near us.”

Harry’s insides twisted as he registered those quiet, damning words. He barely heard Vivian’s wail of despair. His whole world devolved into one single word— failure.

They had failed.

Paris was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a sober twosome that hovered uncertainly around the now empty room, wondering where to go from here. Vivian had been inconsolable, but Harry had finally convinced her that they had no recourse but to bring the Aurors in now. She had left— seemingly in shock and mumbling about ‘talking to Eddie’— while he and Draco did whatever they could, which was nothing.

There was nothing to do now.

Harry wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with this, but Draco was clearly taking it harder. His partner hadn’t said more than two words for the last hour. Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to just...be there and promise him it would be alright. Draco’s drawn, defeated expression was playing havoc with his heart. Only, there _was_ nothing to say and Draco knew it just as well as he did.

“I should have been here.”

Harry started as the silence was broken. Draco’s mouth twisted in frustrated anger and his fists clenched. “I should have looked out for her,” he repeated. “I let her down.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry said. It was hollow consolation, but he’d be damned if he let Draco take the fall for this alone.

“It is,” Draco countered quietly. “I promised her. I swore I would look after her and...and now she’s...”

“You can’t think like that,” Harry said gently. “You’ve done everything you can.”

“Why not?” Draco demanded. He got up to pace. “Harry, Skiver has her. He broke into her room and just...he took her. Merlin knows what he’s doing to...”

“Stop,” Harry broke in firmly. “He’s not going to hurt her. He needs her, remember? Without her, there’s no inheritance. So he can’t...”

“But he _knows_ she isn’t going to just hand it over to him,” Draco argued vehemently. “Harry, the man is a maniac but he’s smart. He knows he can’t expect her to just sit back and cooperate. She’s not the kind to just give in. And that’s what I’m most afraid of. I’m just fucking _scared_ he’s going to hurt her until she gives him what he wants.”

Harry had no answer for that. There was nothing in that theory which he could remotely refute. Skiver wasn’t exactly opposed to drastic solutions. This was a man driven by desperation. He wasn’t thinking straight. In some ways, that made him more dangerous than ever. He was completely unpredictable. Half the things he’d done made no sense and the other half seemed outright impossible.

“How _did_ he break through the wards?” Harry asked suddenly. The thought had been bothering him for a while now, and he just couldn’t get past it.

Draco frowned in confusion and offered a dismissive shrug. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he muttered bitterly.

“I think it does.” This time, Harry was up and pacing. “I set them up specifically to keep him out. Those wards were perfect. How did he figure out how to get past them? For that matter, how did he figure out they were there in the first place so he _could_ get past them? Nobody knew about them except for us, Vivian and Paris.”

Draco looked mildly interested now. At the very least, he was puzzled instead of angry and brooding. “If he did find out about them beforehand, could he have dismantled them?” he asked finally.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. Paris would have had to invite him in, and while I don’t give the kid that much credit for critical thinking,” he ignored Draco’s disapproving scowl and carried on, “I doubt she would do something like that.”

“No,” Draco agreed slowly. He was looking into the distance now, and Harry could practically see his thoughts racing. “But...she could have invited someone else in.”

Harry hadn’t considered that. Was it possible? Now that he thought about it, it did sound plausible. “But she wouldn’t have let just anyone into her room,” he pointed out.

“Again, true,” Draco replied. “So if we’re assuming that Skiver knew about the wards beforehand, then he had to get that information from somewhere.”

“Not you, me or Vivian,” Harry ruled out firmly. “We were too careful.”

“But Paris could have confided in someone,” Draco put in. “Someone she trusted. Someone she never believed would hurt her.”

Harry shook his head wearily. This just kept getting more and more complicated. What were they supposed to do with something so vague? He took a deep breath and tried to sift the pieces in his head into something remotely resembling a rational theory. “This person,” he began, “He or she would have had to know _exactly_ where we were and what we were doing. That means Paris would have been in touch with them over a period of time.”

“And this person,” Draco continued, “probably gave Skiver our exact schedule. That’s how _he_ knew where and how to target Vivian the first two times. He had someone on the inside the whole time. And then...”

“And then this person found out Paris was going to be all alone and told Skiver how to skip the wards.”

“Or,” Draco bit out, “he probably waited until we left, had Paris invite him in, took her away and handed her over to Skiver. There were no signs of a struggle, remember? She left willingly. She trusted him so she didn’t think twice about it and that was just the chance he needed.”

Harry noticed that Draco wasn’t even bothering with the ‘he or she’ theory anymore. He could practically see the list in Draco’s head, narrow down to a specific name. “You have a suspect.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Oh, I do. In fact, I think I know exactly where we need to go now.”

“But who...”

“Think, Harry. Think like a teenage girl. Who is the one person they trust over everyone else, the one person they believe is going to be there for them and more often than not, he turns out to be a complete twat?”

It took Harry a minute. When it finally hit, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, suppressing the urge to bang his head against a wall. “He was here the whole time. The _whole_ time. We didn’t even see it. Why didn’t we _see_ it?”

Draco’s scowl darkened and he stood up. “He’s going to wish we didn’t,” he growled, stalking towards the door. “Come on,” he snapped. “We have a job to do.”

“Hang on,” Harry placated. He was all for rushing into things but this was a delicate situation. “We need a plan.”

Draco whirled around on him, determination flaring in his eyes. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to kick Skiver’s arse and get Paris back. But first, I have a mediocre musician to kill.”

 

* * *

 

 

The motel that Draco’s Tracking Charm led them to could have been pulled right out of a book on clichés. Tacky, neon signs, on the bad side of town...one of those places that pull off innocuous by sticking out like a sore thumb. Harry had to admit it was as good a hideout as any.

“So you put a Tracking Charm on this Lawrence kid while he was on a date with Paris?” he asked Draco yet again, as they slipped through the unattended lobby and up the stairs. “Isn’t that a little...extreme? Like, overprotective big brother extreme?”

“I never liked that little shite,” Draco growled, stomping through the halls. “When I get my hands on him...”

“You’ll do nothing,” Harry replied firmly. He pulled Draco to a stop. “Listen to me. He’s our only lead. If he runs, we don’t have any other way to get to Skiver.”

“Oh, he won’t run,” Draco promised. “I’m going to break his legs.”

“No leg breaking,” Harry scolded. “I know you’re worried sick about Paris but we have to act like professionals. We’ll stay focused and approach this in a tactful, subtle...”

The Tracking Charm flared up outside Room 501 and that’s where Harry promptly lost his audience. Draco whirled around and kicked the door open, stalking in as soon as it flew off its hinges. Harry rolled his eyes. “Or we could just do that,” he muttered, following his furious partner.

“March!” Draco bellowed. “Get out here, you little bastard! I know you’re in here!”

There was a yelp of fright and a sudden crash behind them. In the dark, Harry almost didn’t notice the blurry outline of someone making for the door. Reflexively, he cast a Locking Charm and the door slammed shut. Lawrence March ran face first into solid wood and crashed to the floor, staring at them with wide, terrified eyes.

Draco growled and stormed over, pulling the boy up by his collar. “Going somewhere, Larry?” he sneered.

Lawrence swallowed audibly. “What’s up, dude?” he squeaked.

Draco lost whatever semblance of patience he’d managed and shook the boy until his teeth rattled. “Where is she?” he yelled. “Where did you take her, you little bastard?”

“Draco, calm down,” Harry grunted, trying and failing to pull him off the boy. “He’s a kid!”

“What’s your point?”

“Let go of me!” Lawrence shouted, struggling wildly. Draco sneered and shifted his position. Leonard’s eyes widened and his terrified protests intensified. “You’ve got it all wrong! You’re choking me, you maniac!”

“Draco, let him talk!” Harry snapped. “Let go!”

Draco sneered disbelievingly but he obliged enough to remove his elbow from the boy’s throat. Lawrence staggered, coughing and rubbing his bruised neck. “It’s not what you think,” he blurted, rushing and stumbling over his desperate explanation. “I didn’t...I mean, I wasn’t...I swear...”

“Denial is the wrong way to go, Lawrence,” Harry cut in, his tone even but firm. “We know enough, and we can make damn sure the Aurors do too. Is that what you want?”

Lawrence paled visibly. “I didn’t think it would be this bad,” he mumbled finally. He looked close to tears now. “I didn’t think he’d try to...to kill Vivian. I just...I needed her out of the picture but I would never have...I’m not a criminal, I swear...”

“Why did you help him? What did he give you for being his little spy?” Draco demanded angrily. “Money? A shiny new guitar?”

“No!”

“Then _what?”_ Draco snarled.

Lawrence sniffled and swiped his eyes. “He said...he said when this was over, Paris and I could finally be together.”

That, apparently, was enough to render Draco speechless. He stared at the kid in stunned silence, then proceeded to drop him like a hot rock. Even Harry gaped incredulously at the boy. “Let me see if I understand this,” he said finally. “You assisted in a premeditated kidnapping for _love?”_

Lawrence nodded miserably. Harry groaned and massaged his temples. Damned teenagers...he was getting too old for this. “You do realise that kidnapping is a legal offence,” he tried again, because it really didn’t seem like Lawrence was grasping the concept.

“It’s not kidnapping!” Lawrence protested angrily. “He’s her dad! He’s trying to save her from her crazy mother!”

Draco snapped back to reality at that preposterous claim. “You can’t seriously believe that...”

“You’ve seen her!” Lawrence argued. “She’s a manipulative, controlling, crazy bitch! She makes Paris miserable and plans out every second of her life. Did you know she was planning on sending Paris to a private school so we couldn’t see each other anymore? Leonard isn’t a bad guy, really. He’s just trying to help.”

The boy sounded so desperate, Harry almost felt sorry for him. He _wanted_ to believe his own words, no matter how implausible they seemed. “Lawrence,” Harry said gently. “He tried to murder his ex wife. And you helped him with that.”

“I didn’t!” Lawrence practically screeched. “I only told him what time she’d be there, he could have got that off the back of a flyer!”

“That’s not all you did,” Draco pointed out. “You also broke Paris out of her room and took her to him. March, you handed Paris over to a man who isn’t opposed to murder. Do you realise that?”

Lawrence shivered violently. “He won’t hurt her,” he said stubbornly. “He said he wouldn’t. He’s her father, he just wants to help...”

“He wants her money,” Harry interrupted. “And he won’t stop until he gets it. And if that means hurting her, then he’ll do it.”

“No,” Lawrence mumbled, shaking his head violently and backing away. “I didn’t...I would never hurt...I _love_ her, I love her so much...”

“March.” Draco still sounded angry, but at least he wasn’t actively trying to strangle the boy anymore. “This has gone far enough. You need to come clean. Tell us where he took her.”

Lawrence eyed him doubtfully and Harry stepped in. “If you really love her, if you really want her to be safe, then you need to work with us. Help us get her home.” The boy nodded, but he was still hesitating. Harry took a chance and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done some really stupid things these past few days. They’re not going to go away anytime soon. But if you help us now, if you help Paris, she might forgive you someday. The point is when you love someone, you do what’s best for them. Sometimes it’s terrifying, it might even be the toughest thing you’ve ever had to do, but you do it anyway. That’s just the way it is.”

He could see Draco out of the corner of his eye. His expression was thoughtful, reflecting mild surprise and...something else. Harry resisted the temptation to turn and look at him. They still had a job to do here. “Lawrence,” he whispered. “Come on. Do the right thing.”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Lawrence said, after what seemed like ages. “We only spoke a few times, and I did most of the talking.”

Draco cursed and Harry felt despair twisting his insides. So that was it. After all this, they had failed after all. Skiver was gone, possible for good and Paris with him...

“But I have something that might help.”

He slipped something into Harry’s palm. Harry frowned as he held the scrap of parchment up to the light.

“It fell out of his pocket one time and I never bothered to throw it away,” Lawrence explained. “Does it...I don’t know, mean anything to you?”

“It’s just a rent receipt,” Harry sighed in disappointment. Then he frowned and looked over the address again. “For a...storage unit in Brooklyn?”

Draco leaned over to take a look. “A warehouse,” he deduced. “It figures. He can’t exactly keep all his murder toys in a hotel room, can he?”

“What about Paris?” Harry pressed. “What are the chances he’s holding her there?”

Draco considered that. “Not half bad. It’s too far away for her to run without a wand and it’s probably warded to be untraceable...”

“Plus, no one would ever think to look for her in a Muggle district,” Harry added.

Yes. Yes, it made sense. And that meant...

“Harry, I think this is it,” Draco echoed his thoughts almost instantly. “If she’s anywhere, it’s probably here.”

This was it. It had to be. They had found her. Harry shared a grim but quietly triumphant look with his partner. They had done it. It had taken more than half the night and a good deal of teamwork, but they were halfway there.

“We don’t have time to waste,” he said at once. “We have to go now. He could be moving her out as we speak.”

Draco nodded and turned to the door, before halting halfway. Finally he turned back to Lawrence, who squeaked in alarm and took a prudent step back. “You will apologise,” Draco informed him. “And if you ever hurt her in any way again, I’ll find you. Remember that, Ringo.”

“I’ll remember,” Lawrence blurted. “Sir.”

Draco nodded in satisfaction and headed for the door. Less than ten seconds later, he and Harry were gone, Disapparating to a warehouse in the middle of Brooklyn. Lawrence stared around the now empty room, wondering what to do. Finally, he came to a decision. It wouldn’t be pleasant but Paris was still in danger and it was his fault. If there was anything he could do to help her, he would.

So, he emptied out the last of his Floo powder and lit up the fireplace.

“Hi,” he said, as soon as the face shaped in the flames. “I need to talk to an Auror. I...I have a confession to make.”

 

* * *

 

 

The warehouse was easy enough to find. Even without proper Apparition coordinates, they only ended up a few hundred meters from it. Draco had to take a deep breath as he glanced around. They were in the dilapidated, seedy street somewhere on the outskirts of town. The place was desolate at this time of night, with nothing but dark alleys and graffiti lined walls for miles. Just the thought of Paris being held captive here, alone and terrified...

He didn’t even realise he was moving for the warehouse with his wand raised. It was only when Harry snagged his wrist and pulled him back that he snapped back to reality.

“Hey, hey,” Harry whispered, pressing him against the wall so he couldn’t move. “Slow down a bit.”

“But she’s...”

“I know. But we can’t go barging in there. Skiver’s clearly unstable. Do you really want to risk Paris’s safety?”

“Of course not,” Draco argued vehemently. “But I can’t just...”

“Draco.” Harry’s tone was gentle, but he left no room for argument. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Draco subsided with a weary sigh. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like where this was going. “Of course we are.”

“You told me once that you trusted me. I’m asking you to trust me now. We'll get Paris back, I promise. But I won’t let you jeopardise your safety either. You’re too important to me.”

Too important? Draco could have sworn he felt something tighten behind his eyes. “It’s just how I work,” he admitted quietly. “When the situation calls for it, I just think of myself as...expendable.”

Harry’s jaw tightened and for a split second, he actually looked angry. “Well, you’re not,” he replied. “You’re part of a team now and we work together. I need you, so don’t ever call yourself ‘expendable’ again. Understand?”

He didn’t. He really didn’t. But Harry grip on his arm was firm and reassuring and his eyes spoke of complete and total conviction. No one had ever trusted him like this. No one had ever inspired so much trust in _him._ For once, Draco didn’t want to ask questions or analyse the situation. Some things...you just went with them.

“Okay,” he relented. “I guess we’re in this together.”

Harry smiled and lifted his hand to trace Draco’s cheek. “Whatever happens tonight, I’ve got your back,” he promised. “Now let’s go finish this.”

They managed to make a rudimentary floor plan of the warehouse. Harry identified three possible entry points and deduced that Paris would probably be somewhere at the centre of the building, far away from any possible exits. It was a sound plan. If they could sneak in and get to her without raising an alarm, it would be for the best. If not...well, that’s why they had wands. The only thing that really bothered Draco was how dilapidated the building was. The place was old, abandoned and practically falling apart. If push came to shove, they risked less harm from Skiver and more from the warehouse itself. But there was nothing to be done about that. They would just have to risk it.

They made it in. No surprises. Harry’s Notice Me Not Charm was simple but it held as they sneaked in through a door in the back. So far, so good.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, brushing dust off his clothes.

“See anything?” Draco whispered, almost tripping over a broken floorboard. He didn’t dare cast a Lumos. If Skiver got the slightest inclination they were here, it would all be over.

“No,” Harry whispered next to him. “Maybe she’s in the...”

“You know, you two are really starting to piss me off.”

Draco froze and his blood ran cold.

_No._

 

* * *

 

 

He heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath, heard the muttered curse escape him.

“I know you’re there,” Skiver’s taunting voice carried on from behind them. “You tripped the wards. It’s over.” 

_No no no!_

“Turn around,” Skiver ordered sharply. “Drop the Charm, put your wands down and stay where you are. If you do as you’re told, maybe I won’t hurt her.”

A soft sob rang out in the stifling silence, shattering Draco’s frozen sense of reality.

 _Paris._  

All thoughts of launching a sudden attack and hexing Skiver right in the face flew out the window. He couldn’t— not while the sick son of a bitch was using her as a shield, at least. There was only one thing he could do now. Draco dropped the Charm, surrendered his wand and turned around as slowly as he could. He was only vaguely aware that Harry was doing the same thing. All of his attention was on the man in front of him. The man standing there, ten feet from them with a knife held to Paris’s throat.

“Well, well,” Skiver crooned, shifting the blade and pressing it just so slightly against Paris’s throat. “Looks like the cavalry’s finally here.”

“Draco?” Paris whimpered. Her face was teary and streaked with dirt, her hair was a tangled mess and her clothes were torn. Draco felt a growl build up in his throat and his fists clenched.

“Let go of her,” he snarled, hating how useless the words felt. Skiver smiled and slid the blade across Paris’s throat, eliciting another sob from her.

“Drop the act, Skiver,” Harry sneered. “We know you’re not going to hurt her. You need her for the inheritance.”

“Yeah?” Skiver’s answering grin was a study in madness. “Do you really want to take that chance? What if I get nervous? I could slip or my hand could shake...” The knife shifted again and Paris screamed in sheer terror as the blade grazed her skin this time.

“Get the fuck off her!” Draco snarled, taking an instinctive step forward. Skiver snarled at the sudden movement and twisted Paris’s arm roughly. The girl gasped in pain and Draco retreated at once, hands held out in a gesture of surrender. But his eyes still burned with sheer hatred.

“You’ve gone too far,” he hissed. “Attempted murder, kidnapping, assaulting a minor...what do you think is going to happen, Skiver? It’s Azkaban for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Skiver replied thoughtfully. “Can’t really pin murder on me without all that pesky evidence, can they? As for the whole ‘kidnapping’ business, I’m sure the Wizengamot will reconsider. Especially when Paris here tells them how she ran away from her controlling, abusive mother, how she was rescued by her caring, loving, wonderful father who only wants what’s best for her.” He stroked the terrified girl’s hair in a parody of affection.

Harry glared daggers at the man. “And what makes you think she’ll lie for you in court?” he asked.

Skiver’s eyes shifted to him. “You’d be surprised what a well placed Imperio can accomplish. By this time tomorrow, Paris will have a new song to sing. And sing it she will. ”

Draco felt sick to his stomach. An Unforgivable. He was actually talking about using an Unforgivable on a child. “I’m going to see you burn for this,” he hissed. “You’re a dead man.”

“Funny you should bring that up,” Skiver replied smoothly. “That’s actually the next order of business.” He tutted and shook his head regretfully. “Now about you two...Merlin, you really go above and beyond the call of duty, don’t you? Him, I get. What with his whole Saviour shtick and all.” He nodded at Harry. “You, on the other hand…” He sneered at Draco. “You were a wild card through this whole thing. I figured, there was no way an ex Death Eater would get in my way. _You_ were supposed to be gone the second that spotlight came down on Vivian. But no. You just _had_ to make it this far, didn’t you?”

Draco smirked. “I’ve pissed a lot of people off by making it this far, Skiver. You’re hardly the first.”

“Yeah? Well, it ends now.” Skiver lifted his wand. “Sorry, boys. You really should have quit while you still had the chance.” He grinned and aimed his wand at Draco. “I think I’ll kill you first. Make one move, and I’ll cut her throat.”

“Don’t touch him!” Harry growled.

“Draco,” Paris whispered, eyes wide with fright. “No. No, please…”

“It’s okay,” Draco reassured, not even sure who he was talking to. His heart was racing and his head felt light. His whole view of the world narrowed down to the tip of the wand. “It’s alright,” he promised, trying to keep his voice from shaking a little. “It’s going to be fine, I swear.”

Skiver smirked. Draco swallowed around a lump in his throat. His eyes met Harry’s in a silent demand to keep still, if only for Paris’s sake. He tried to ignore the torn, devastated look in Harry’s eyes. In a few seconds, it wouldn’t matter…

Draco suppressed the instinctive urge to close his eyes. If this was it for him then at the very least, he wasn’t going out like a coward. Skiver shifted the wand again. The curse was on his lips...

It happened in a split second.

Later— when he sat down to think about it— Draco would realise that he _had_ noticed Paris’s arm twitch. Skiver was too caught up in his monologue to notice but he was distracted enough to loosen his hold on the knife, just slightly. Slowly and surely, Paris had managed to hedge away enough to angle her body away from his blade. When he raised his wand to curse Draco, she took the one and only shot she had. She drew her free arm back and _rammed_ her elbow straight into Skiver’s ribs.

She couldn’t have done it better if she had been trained. The impact resounded with an ominous crunch. Skiver yelped in pain and surprise. The knife jerked— just missing her throat— but that one second was enough. Paris broke free and ran, Harry was already moving to cover her and Draco went with instinct. He threw himself into the fray, knocking Skiver off his feet. They both went crashing to the floor. Skiver howled in sheer rage and swung the knife again.

“Get her out!” Draco yelled, dodging the blade. He had lost his wand in the ruckus. It was as good as gone. Skiver had a knife and a wand. It was only a matter of time before he regained his bearings. “Get her out **now!** ”

“What? No!” Harry shouted back. “She’s fine! I’m not leaving here without...”

“Harry, **go!** I’ll handle this!”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

“Go! Trust me! Just **go!** ”

Harry remained rooted to the spot— seemingly out of sheer stubbornness. Draco cursed as Skiver reared to attack again. He had to get them out of here before this maniac decided to start flinging hexes. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Go! Go now!”

Harry cursed fluently but this time he listened. He grabbed Paris, retrieved his wand and then they were gone, running for the exit. There was no time to celebrate. Skiver was on his feet, wand up and teeth bared like a wild animal.

“You,” he snarled. “You ruined everything! I’m going to watch you burn!”

Draco readied himself as another round of spells flew.

 

* * *

 

 

“How much...further is it?” Paris panted, running as fast as she could.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “The Apparition wards have to end somewhere. Keep running.”

Skiver had done a damn good job of warding the place. Harry despaired when he realised they couldn’t Apparate even when the warehouse was well behind them, but it was this or nothing. They raced through the warehouse and out in the streets. Paris kept up admirably despite her exhausted state.

“Go back!” she demanded suddenly. “I’ll be fine. You go help Draco!”

“He’ll be fine,” Harry retorted, silently wishing he could do just that. “He’s a trained professional. He can handle this.”

“He doesn’t have a wand!”

Harry grit his teeth and tightened his hold on her, pulling her along. Every fibre in his being was rebelling, clamouring for him to go back and get Draco out of there _right now._ But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Draco had asked him for one thing— trust. After all this time, if Harry couldn’t do that, then none of it mattered. He was going to do right by Draco, he was going to get Paris to safety, and then he was going back to help his partner. It was the only way.

“Here!” Paris cried suddenly. “Something’s different. I think this is it!”

She was right. The wards ended right at the street corner. Harry could have cried in relief. But there was no time for melodramatics. Without wasting a second, he pulled her to his side and Apparated.

They stumbled right into the hotel lobby, much to the alarm of the most of staff. Paris was up and running as soon as she had her bearings. Harry followed and they didn’t stop until they were bursting into the room.

“Mum!” Paris shrieked as soon as she caught sight of Vivian.

“Paris!”

Vivian sobbed and ran right for them, gathering up her daughter and holding her close. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “Oh thank Merlin. You’re alright. My baby’s home.” She turned to Harry, tears still brimming from her eyes. “How did you find...”

Harry didn’t wait around to answer. In seconds, he was gone.

The dreary streets slid into focus again. Harry ran. His side ached and his lungs were on fire. How long had he been running? Twenty minutes, his mind supplied readily. Twenty minutes, give or take a few. Harry swallowed. A lot could happen in twenty minutes. If he was too late, if Draco was hurt, he really didn’t think he could take it. If the worst had happened...

 _No._  

He couldn’t think like that. Not right now. Not when Draco needed him.

So he pushed the thoughts away relentlessly and forced himself to keep moving. _Not too far now_ , he told himself. _Almost there..._

By the time he made it through the streets, his legs were ready to give in under the strain. Still, he ran until he reached the building.

And that was when he stopped to a dead halt.

The warehouse had collapsed. Harry stared at the ruins, unable to process it. The roof had come down. The walls had large, gaping holes in them. One entire section was coming down even as he watched. Wood and concrete rained down from the sky, crashing around him. Harry’s heart plummeted.

Twenty minutes.

This had happened in _twenty minutes._

Draco...where was Draco?

“No,” he muttered, quickening his pace and heading straight for the chaos. “No, please. Oh Merlin, no...”

A firm hand grabbed hold of him by the arm, pulling him back. Harry snapped back to reality, finding himself staring into a familiar face— a very familiar face.

“You can’t go in there,” the blond, stocky Auror announced gruffly. “DMLE personnel only.”

His partner— the same one who had assaulted Draco a week ago— scuttled up alongside him. “No civilians allowed,” he declared with pompous authority. “This here is a crime scene.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry demanded.

The Aurors exchanged a look and drew their respective shoulders back. “We got called in by a Mr Lawrence March. He said something was going down here tonight.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Get out of my way,” he hissed dangerously. He hadn’t come this far to get thwarted by Tweedledum and Tweedledumber. Draco was somewhere under that rubble, probably hurt or worse, and he was _going to find him_ — two bit Junior Aurors, be damned.

The Auror scowled and tightened his grip. “Resisting arrest, eh? Well, we’ll just see about...”

“Get the hell out of my way!” Harry snarled, pushing him off. “My partner’s in there!”

“The Death Eater?”

At this point, Harry just about lost it. He didn’t even realise he had planted his fist in the man’s face until he howled in pain and staggered back, clutching at his broken nose. Harry didn’t wait to see how it played out. Without another word, he shoved past them and headed for the ruins.

“You maniac!” the Auror bellowed. “You’re under arrest! I’ll have your head for this, you son of a...”

“Get in line,” Harry yelled back.

The momentary triumph fled as he faced the charred remains. Panic set in as he surveyed the wreckage of the warehouse. How the hell had this _happened?_ Had Skiver done this? Had he overpowered Draco somehow and tried to get rid of the evidence? Harry hated how plausible that theory sounded and not for the first time, he cursed himself for leaving his partner here.

Draco. Brave, reckless, clever Draco...

What would he do if Draco was gone? How would he...

“Please,” Harry choked out. “Please be here. Please don’t be...”

“Harry? Salazar, please tell me it’s you.”

Harry’s heart nearly gave out. His breath hitched and he whirled around. Draco groaned in pain as he tried to extricate himself from the rubble. He was here— covered in dust and plaster, with a cut lip and a black eye. But he was here. He was alive.

“Damn wreck,” he complained. “I _knew_ it was unstable.”

“Draco!”

Harry was next to him in a second, going to his knees and gingerly checking him over. Draco hissed in pain and evident displeasure at being manhandled. But for the most part, he seemed miraculously unhurt. “I’m fine,” he groused, pushing Harry’s hands away. “Calm down, will you?”

“Calm down?” Harry echoed incredulously. “I leave you alone for twenty minutes, come back to find you buried under six feet of rubble and you want me to _calm down?!_ ”

Draco had the grace to look a tiny bit embarrassed. “A simple miscalculation,” he argued. “I retrieved my wand and cast an Incendio at Skiver— first spell I could think of. Only...I didn’t realise there were a few dozen boxes of fireworks in the warehouse. It was quite a show.”

“Fireworks?” Harry echoed blankly. Because clearly, this night wasn’t weird enough.

“I’m guessing they were for the Fourth of July or something,” Draco supplied with a disparaging scoff. “Americans.”

“I’m... almost afraid to ask this but where’s Skiver? Did he get away?”

“Oh, him.” Draco shrugged and gestured vaguely at a pile of rubble to his far left. Harry could just make out a foot sticking out from under the pile of plaster.

Seriously, what the hell?

“He got knocked out pretty easily,” Draco explained smugly. “Not so tough when he’s got a rocket launcher chasing after him.”

And that was it. It was just too much. Harry burst into laughter. It was either that or succumbing to the siren call of madness. He laughed until he cried and then he laughed some more, until his sides ached in protest. Draco watched him in silence, seemingly torn between concern and amusement.

“Do you have something to share with the class?” he asked finally.

“You brought down a building,” Harry managed. “You actually brought down a _building_.” Just saying it out loud set him off again. That incident had haunted him for seven years, it had ruined his Auror career and Draco had saved their mission and taken down the bad guy by doing the exact same thing.

Oh, Neville was going to hate this so _much_.

Draco’s enquiring expression gave way to an amused grin. “I guess I did,” he agreed. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

Harry’s chuckling fit trailed off. Now that he actually had a minute to breathe, he was exhausted. It was over. It was finally over.

“We did it,” he whispered. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“Believe it,” Draco replied, slipping his hand into Harry’s. “We’re good together, Potter. We make one hell of a team.”

They did. They really did. In one night, they had wrapped up the case, taken down a criminal and saved a little girl’s life. And they had done it together. Harry still couldn’t believe they had made it this far. Who would have guessed that it would come to this? He was finally part of a team. He finally had the perfect partner, someone to watch his back and pull him through the rough times. After all this, he couldn’t have asked for more.

And then Draco’s hand tightened around his. Harry looked up into striking grey eyes. Draco said nothing, but there was a question in his gaze— a softness that touched a chord deep inside Harry.  The perfect partner. In these two weeks, Draco had looked out for him, challenged him, turned his world upside down and become a part of it in the process. It was finally over and Harry couldn’t imagine how he had gotten along without him for so long. And he didn’t think he could do it now, not after all of this.

“I need you,” he said, answering the question that Draco hadn’t asked.

It was enough.

Draco smiled and leaned in. Their lips brushed in a tentative kiss. Harry’s heart surged and he pulled him closer, holding on with a grip tight enough to hurt. It was a long time before either one of them drew back. But when they did, it was with an unspoken agreement and a silent promise.

_I’ve got your back, partner._

 

* * *

 

**England: At the Office of the Head Auror, DMLE; a few days later...**

 

It was official. Neville was experiencing his very first migraine. Evidently, it came with the territory as Head Auror. When he finally removed his head from his hands, Harry at least, had the decency not to laugh out loud. Malfoy, not so much.

“Let me see if I understand this,” Neville declared flatly. “I give you a ridiculously mundane, perfectly routine assignment. And you wrecked a building. _Again._ ”

This time Harry did smile. He also held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I had nothing to do with it,” he protested. “It was all him.”

“Guilty,” Malfoy confessed with an unrepentant smirk.

_Fantastic. Now there’s two of them._

Neville ignored his throbbing headache for a second and decided to get down to brass tacks. “Skiver confessed this morning under Veritaserum,” he said. “The Wizengamot will have a hearing next week but I think it’s safe to say he’s going away for a very long time.”

Harry exchanged a look with Malfoy. There was a grimness there, echoed in the tight lines of his mouth and the hard set of his eyes. Then Malfoy nodded and squeezed his hand. Harry sighed and his shoulders relaxed.

Neville watched the silent exchange with mild interest. Well, that was new. It had been a while since he’d seen Harry...well, like _this._ Neville decided that it wasn’t so bad after all.

And after hearing their story and what had transpired over these two weeks, he had to say he was impressed.

“You did good, Harry,” he said, and he really meant it. “It’s...well, it’s not the way I would have handled things, but I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied. Always good with words, that one. But he was smiling and that was definitely a good sign.

“And as for you, Malfoy...” Neville turned to the man, who raised an enquiring eyebrow. Not much had changed with this one. Neville could still see traces of the arrogant boy he had known once, all those years ago. But there was something else now. Malfoy met his eyes effortlessly. He held himself with steady confidence. There was a frank fearlessness now, mingled with all that Slytherin cunning. This was a man who had seen the best and worst of himself and come to terms with it. There was potential there, Neville decided, and he would be a fool not to at least make an offer.

“Harry told me about your contribution to this case,” he said finally. “If half of what I’ve heard is true, then you’re the reason that girl is safe at home instead of Merlin knows where.”

Malfoy’s defensive stance softened somewhat. “I couldn’t have done it without my partner.”

“Well, I already know what he’s going to say so I won’t even ask,” Neville replied. “But if you’re still interested in a career at the DMLE, we can pull your application out of the reject pile. We could use someone like you on the team.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. Instinctively he turned to Harry. Another silent conversation. Harry looked hesitant but he squeezed Malfoy’s shoulder in a gesture of support. Malfoy smiled and turned back to Neville.

“Thanks,” he replied. “But no thanks. I’m already part of a pretty good team.”

Harry’s strained smile turned to a full out grin. Malfoy gave him a fond look and leaned against his shoulder, looking perfectly contented. Neville sighed. Well, he couldn’t say he was surprised.

“I understand,” he relented. “Still, the offer stands and if you change your mind…”

He was interrupted by a sudden commotion outside.

“Miss, I told you, you can’t go in there! That’s the Head…”

“Do you know who I am? I could buy this office if I wanted to! Now get out of my way!”

“But…”

“Don’t make me call my lawyer!”

The door burst open and Neville instinctively reached for his wand. He withdrew when he saw the petite blonde step inside. Her angry gaze roved the office before settling in on her target.

“Draco!”

And then she was running, launching herself right into a grinning Malfoy’s arms.

“Hey kid,” Malfoy greeted, ruffling her hair fondly. “Still getting in trouble?”

“Are you okay?” Paris demanded urgently. “They wouldn’t let me see you and mum said we had to come home and then Eddie said you were here and I…”

“I’m sorry,” Neville interrupted as politely as he could. “What…”

The girl whirled around on him. “You!” she hissed. “What’s your problem?!”

Neville blinked. Maybe he should have gone for his wand when he had the chance. “I don’t under…”

“What do you people have against Draco?” she demanded angrily. “He saved my life! He saved my mother’s life! Why are you always looking for a reason to arrest him? Merlin, don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Actually, we were just…”

“Don’t interrupt me!”

Neville did not interrupt her.

“I can’t believe you brought him here,” she railed on. “After all he did for us! Why can’t you just leave him alone? You know what? I _am_ going to call my lawyer! I’m going to make you wish you were...”

“Paris,” Harry interrupted mercifully. He was obviously fighting for a straight face, the twat. “Breathe.”

Malfoy chuckled and squeezed her shoulders gently. “He’s one of the good guys.”

Paris raised a sceptical eyebrow and gave Neville a disparaging sidelong glance. Well, at least that explained why Malfoy was so fond of her. At least she was willing to take his word for it. She shrugged and perched on Neville’s desk. “So guess what?” she chirped happily. “No more singing lessons.”

“Finally talked your way out of them?” Malfoy asked.

Paris smiled. “Mum and I talked. A _lot._ I told her I just want a normal life for a while. She didn’t take it too well at first but I promised to be good and Grandma sang at her until she gave up. Long story short, Eddie pulled some strings and I’m going to Hogwarts next year.”

“Gryffindor,” Harry stated confidently. “I’ll stake my life on it.”

“And despite that, I couldn’t be prouder of you,” Malfoy put in.

Paris grinned.

“So have you spoken to Lawrence yet?” Malfoy asked suddenly.

Paris’s smile faded to a scowl. “No. And I don’t plan to. He can rot in hell for all I care.”

“I get that,” Malfoy said gently. “And you don’t have to. But just do me a favour and hear him out, yeah?”

Paris glowered mulishly but Malfoy held her stubborn gaze. Her shoulders sagged and she subsided with a sullen shrug. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m not making any promises.”

Malfoy nodded and left it at that. It was Harry who stepped in to change the subject. “So if you’re not going to sing, what will you do?” he asked. “What’s the big plan?”

“I have a few ideas,” Paris replied with a mischievous grin. “Let’s just say when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know.”

Neville didn’t find that at all reassuring but Malfoy just laughed and gave her another hug. “You’ll do just fine. You’ve got what it takes.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “Both of you. For everything.” She sighed and tightened her hold on Malfoy. “I’m going to miss you, Draco.”

“I’m just a Floo call away,” Malfoy replied softly. “Anytime you need me, I’ll be right here.”

Paris sniffled and tightened her hold on him. It was a while before she finally pulled away. “I should go. Mum’s waiting for me. You take care of yourself, okay?”

Malfoy promised he would.

She turned to Harry and favoured him with a grin. “You too. You’re not so bad for a guy who made it into a history book.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Always a pleasure, Miss Warbeck.”

And with that she was gone. Neville stared at her retreating back until the door shut with a click. He wasn’t sure what had just transpired but it was rather disorienting.

“That’s the helpless little girl who needs protection?” he asked dryly.

Harry shrugged. Malfoy just snickered and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _that’s my girl._

Of course. Neville decided that this was as good a time as any to give up.

And if little Miss Warbeck ever decided to take up a career as an Auror, he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in her way.

 

* * *

 

**Two years later:**

 

Harry groaned as he hit the training mat. Hard.

Draco shook his head and tutted disapprovingly. “Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy,” he crooned, straddling Harry with practiced ease. “It’s like you _want_ me to take you down.”

Harry grinned and lifted his head to steal a quick kiss from his boyfriend. “Not the worst idea in the world,” he admitted. Suddenly, he swung his leg and rolled over, pinning Draco beneath him. Draco scowled at the sudden reversal and Harry leaned in to kiss that frown away. “And that’s what you get for being cocky.”

Draco huffed in annoyance and squirmed underneath him, trying to wriggle away. Unfortunately, it had more of the opposite effect since Harry hissed in approval and shifted to increase the tantalising contact. “I don’t remember training ever being this much fun,” he chuckled.

“I’m so glad you approve,” Draco retorted. “Now move, you oaf. You’re crushing me.”

Harry obliged and helped him up. “So Kingsley called,” he reported. “There’s a Romanian delegation coming in— very high profile. He wants us to head the security team.”

“Pass,” Draco replied at once. “I already booked us for another job.”

“When?” Harry blurted. “What for?”

Draco chuckled and tossed something at him. Harry caught the _Prophet_ on instinct. Understanding dawned as he read through the headlines.

 

_WARBECK’S STAR: SHINING BRIGHT WITH ANOTHER BIG HIT_

_—Exclusive Coverage by Rita Skeeter_

_Paris Warbeck is at it again. After months of anticipation, dedicated fans all over the country have a reason to celebrate. Miss Warbeck— the new kid on the literary block and winner of Witch Weekly’s ‘Bodice Ripper of the Year’ award— has finally announced a follow-up to her bestseller: The Bodyguards._

_Miss Warbeck commenced her writing career last year, after an unfortunate and difficult upheaval in her personal life. Regular readers may remember the Prophet’s exclusive coverage on the incident. Nevertheless, she persevered through her traumatic experience and was later inspired to take up the quill— a bold break from the family legacy._

_‘The Bodyguards’ became an instant hit with teenage girls all over the magical world, and it’s not hard to fathom why. Two handsome heroes roving the countryside and thwarting evil doers? Sign this writer up! And that’s not all. Several fans have speculated on the possibility of a romantic relationship between the male leads— the grim, good hearted Harvey Dent, and his sly and sexy partner, Derek Malloy. While ‘The Bodyguards’ retains that classy and subtle understatement that made it so popular, there’s no denying the sexual tension that just steams off the pages._

_When asked, Miss Warbeck shrugged and stated that ‘she ships it’. When asked to explain what ‘shipping’ means, she told reporters to get with the programme. There were no further questions._

_Of course, we at the Prophet are with the programme. Having followed Miss Warbeck’s career over the years and having supported her faithfully every step of the way, we take great pleasure in highly recommending ‘The Bodyguards, Part 2: The Abduction’!_

_Take a chance on the brilliant Miss Warbeck. This writer guarantees you won’t regret it._

 

Harry made a face. “I’m not so sure I’m comfortable with being the inspiration for… this. Also, Harvey and Derek? She’s not exactly going for subtle, is she?”

“She never does,” Draco agreed with a fond grin. “So what do you say? The premiere is next week and the kid said it’s us or nobody.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “A book signing, huh? Isn’t that a step down for us?”

“But it’s the Bodice Ripper of the Year!”

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved at his snickering boyfriend. “Kingsley is going to sulk for months, you know. You sure about this?”

Draco looped his arms around Harry’s neck. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Then I’ve got your back, partner.”

Draco smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/85628.html).


End file.
